Without Him
by ShegoRulz
Summary: An AVPM AU of what life would be like for both Voldemort and Quirrell if Voldemort hadn't returned to Azkaban. Quirrellmort / Quirrelmort, rated T/M. Complete!
1. Chapter 1

**This is a new multi-chapter story, and it's an AU of what life would be like for both Voldemort and Quirrell if Voldemort hadn't returned to Azkaban at the end of AVPM (: I don't own these characters or the Harry Potter and Starkid franchise. Unfortunately. **

_Prologue _

_He's never been in so much pain._

_It takes Voldemort what feels like a lifetime to even prop himself into a sitting position, but his achievement doesn't last long, as before he knows it he's collapsed on the ground again. Is he dead? Is he in hell? Is this what it's like to be dead and being punished for all his crimes?_

_He heaves and blearily moves his eyes, trying to locate his wand. There it is, discarded on the ground a few metres away. Better not try to reach for it, though. God, he's gonna hurl..._

_So, maybe not dead. The more he looks around, the more aware he becomes of his surroundings. Hogwarts. Right, he's on the grounds of Hogwarts. Because of the revenge plan and all that. Wait, what about Potter, then? Has the kid finally been defeated or what?_

_"Jeez, look at you!"_

_Voldemort's heart thumps as Quirrell kneels down beside him. Oh, he's missed him so much._

_"See, this is what happens when you fire a spell at the same time." Quirrell lectures. He looks beautiful, as always, and Voldemort lips tug up in a tiny smile. "Read some more, will you?"_

_"I - I know." His voice is cracked and useless, and he heaves again at the effort of speaking._

_"Do you? Honestly, Voldemort! Look at the state of you."_

_"Am - am I dead?"_

_Quirrell pauses, frowning. "No. You're in a bad state, though."_

_"Must be - dead." Voldemort croaks, and his eyes fill up. "You too."_

_"Excuse me?" Quirrell looks offended. "I think I'd know if I was dead, thanks very much."_

_"You're - not really here, Qu-Quirrell." Voldemort breaths out shakily. "You're - in Azkaban."_

_"What?" He looks stunned, which doesn't make sense, because he should know this. He's in a cell, after all._

_"All my fault."_

_"I'm not dead. Why would you say that to me?" Quirrell suddenly stands up, glowering down at him. "Ugh. Fuck you."_

_"No, Quirrell, please!" Voldemort pushes himself up, aimlessly reaching out. "I'm sorry! Don't!"_

_"I was only trying to help, and you're telling me I'm not even real?"_

_"You're real, 'course - but I - you're in Azkaban!" Voldemort gags and clutches at his stomach as he's sick. His vision blurs as he shakily wipes at his mouth, coughing and groaning once he's done._

_There's a pause, and then Quirrell speaks again. "Why would I be in Azkaban?"_

_Voldemort moans. "My fault. All my fault."_

_"Well, you know what you need to do now, don't you?" Quirrell asks, his voice softening. "You need to help me."_

_"Y-yes." He whispers, looking up at him pleadingly. "You're innocent."_

_"I am. Will you help me?" Quirrell now looks so thin, and his eyes are hollow and pleading. His face is gaunt, and his head is bleeding. Voldemort is almost sick again at the sudden transformation. While still beautiful, Quirrell is obviously in huge danger._

_"Yes, I - "_

_"I might be dead, actually." Quirrell muses as he looks down at himself. His nice shirt and tie have been replaced with an Azkaban prison robe, which is torn and tattered. There are marks on his wrists. They're raw and bleeding. "I've been in there for such a long time."_

_"Stop, please..."_

_"Why would you do this to me? We're friends." Quirrell suddenly asks, his voice now as croaky as Voldemort's. "Maybe I am dead. You were right."_

_"No!"_

_"I must be. It's been so long."_

_"Six - six months -" Voldemort interjects. "That's- that's okay, isn't it?"_

_Quirrell laughs loudly, and gestures at himself. A puddle of blood is forming on the floor from his bleeding wrists and forehead. He's covered in bruises, an ugly mixture of purple and yellow across his handsome face. "Oh, Voldemort. I'll be lucky if I last one more night."_

_Voldemort is sick again, and he's crying, sheer panic taking over. When's the last time he's sobbed like this? "I'm sorry!"_

_"I'm going to have to go now." Quirrell sighs heavily. "I don't think I want your help anymore. Look at what you've done to me."_

_"I'll - help, I promise! I'm so sorry!" Voldemort struggles back to a sitting position. "Just - help me stand up, then I'll...I'll be able to do stuff." His sobs are choking him, and people will be able to hear him soon. But they can't know he's still alive. By all accounts, he really should be dead. He's a horrible person, the worst person alive. "Quirrell, I'm - so sorry -"_

_He's gone. Of course he has. He was a hallucination of his own guilt, nothing more, because the real Quirrell is stuck in a prison cell. So now what? What is Voldemort meant to do? Go to Azkaban, obviously. Right?_

_But no. First thing is to make sure Quirrell is set free and cleared of his charges. Then he can just let him go. He's been through so much already because of Voldemort. If he's still alive..._

_Voldemort covers his mouth, and begins crawling over to his wand, his stomach still heaving. He's made so much noise already, a student is bound to realise the Dark Lord isn't quite as dead as they thought. It's a mystery how he's even alive anyway. But better not dwell on that now. Just keep moving. _

_Once his wand is in his hand, Voldemort tries to figure out what to do. If Quirrell is still alive – he must be, he has to be – then he needs to be let out of Azkaban as soon as possible. The Wizarding World needs to know he's innocent. _

_And then Voldemort can leave him be once and for all. Quirrell will be glad to see the back of him.  
_

1

_"Oh, hey, did you hear? The dark lord is dead!"_

"Quirinus? Quirinus, I hope you're not planning on staying in your room all day again!"

Quirrell woke with a start, glancing around blearily, and rubbing his eyes with shaking hands. He took a moment to get his bearings - old room, at his parents' house, right - and propped himself into a sitting position. There came a knock on his door and he grimaced, lying back down again. "J-just - leave, please." He managed. Azkaban had royally fucked a lot of things up, but his speech was the real kicker. He could barely form a coherent sentence anymore.

"Quirinus?" His mother called. "You need to eat something, and maybe go outside for a bit. Come on."

For fuck's sake, wasn't he entitled to stay in bed for a while? He'd been in hell for six months, and Voldemort was dead. That was more than enough of a reason to not do anything. And as for eating? Just the idea made him feel sick.

"I have something for you." His mother said, ever the trier. "There's a garden show on later, and I thought you and I could go to it. When's the last time you saw flowers?"

Quirrell frowned and slowly propped himself up again. "A-ages."

"There you go, then. Get dressed."

Quirrell bit his lip. "It'll be b-busy."

"It's on all week. If there are too many people for you to be comfortable with, we can go another day. But let's try it first."

He hesitated. Getting up and going outside? But..."O-okay. But not too - too long."

"Whatever you want. It's quite cold outside, though, so wrap up."

Quirrell murmured something in response, rubbing his arms, already freezing. His body wasn't used to warmth or comfort after being starved of the two for so long. He hesitantly swung his legs out of the bed, which were shaky and thin, and stumbled around for some clothes, trying to avoid looking at himself in the mirror as he did so, knowing he'd only cry again.

Once dressed in a sweater and jeans, he slowly opened his door, squinting at the brightness, and gripped onto the railing as he made his way downstairs.

"There he is." His mother reached out to hug him, but he automatically flinched and she hastily retracted her arms.

"C-can we go n-now?" He found himself asking. The sooner he went, the sooner he could go back to bed.

"Well, maybe you should eat something first." His mother suggested. "Is there anything you -"

"Not h-hungry." He replied quietly.

His mother sighed, looking at him. "You're skin and bone, Quirinus."

"'C-course I am. I've b-been starved for - six m-months." He retorted, aware of how feeble and dull his voice sounded. He decided not to mention that he'd lost all will to live anyway.

"Alright, come on then." She sighed again. "We'll take the car. Bring your coat."

His parents were living in muggle territory and had been for years, which suited Quirrell just fine. As far as he was concerned, he was never going back to the Wizarding World, ever. Not that they'd even want him, but…

The car ride took a while, and it passed in silence. Eventually they arrived at some building, which didn't remotely look like a garden show. Quirrell managed a small laugh. "Oh. Th-thanks, Mom, you g-got me."

She didn't respond right away, and unbuckled her seat belt. "There is a garden show. We're just taking a detour."

"Uh-huh."

"You're very sick, Quirinus. But you know that already, I'm sure. You're the one who's suffered, so now we're going to do something about it."

"T-take me home."

"This therapist is one of the best -"

Quirrell laughed again. "Oh, wow! A sh-shrink! Y'think a d-damn shrink is g-gonna help me? You're c-crazier than I - I am!"

"First of all, you're not crazy." She retorted. "Second, how else do you think you're going to get better?"

"I'm n-not." He rolled his eyes. "Mom, p-please, take me - me home!"

"We're going to this therapist." His mother replied, talking to him like he was a petulant toddler. "Out the car."

Quirrell gritted his teeth as he opened the car door, slamming it shut behind him once he was out. "Then f-fuck the garden sh-show. If it e-even exists."

"Watch your language." She told him as they walked inside the building, where she then told the receptionist Quirrell's name. Once they were sitting in the waiting room, she continued, "And I told you there was a garden show and I meant it."

"I can't b-believe you did this b-behind my back!" He snapped, and to his horror his eyes filled with tears. "I w-want to go h-home. This is st-stupid!"

"Quirinus..."'

"No! I sh-should've jumped in the w-water after my release. Saved my-myself from all this c-crap." His voice cracked. "The m-moment I found out he was d-dead, I should've -"

"Oh, Quirinus, not this again. The man was a monster who used you. Look at the mess you're in because of him! You can't even go back to the Wizarding World!"

"He - he was my f-friend!"

"You-Know-Who doesn't have friends, darling. He threw you in a prison cell, what more proof do you need? And now he's dead, so good riddance. We can all sleep safer."

Quirrell covered his mouth as his tears began to fall, and he hunched up in the chair, shaking. "D-don't say that, p-please..."

His mother attempted to place a hand on his shoulder, but he shrugged her off. "I'm sorry. But I -"

Quirrell jumped as his name was called and rapidly shook his head. "Not g-going in."

"Quirinus, please get up." His mother replied, attempting to take his arm. "You need help."

"I n-need - to be left - alone!"

It didn't work, and he was more or less dragged in the small office to be told what they all already knew. Severe depression and PTSD with terrible anxiety. They were to put him on medication immediately and watch out in case he did something stupid. Basically, he'd been reduced to a freak-show.

"I think it'd be a good idea if you came to me for weekly sessions." The doctor told him. "Only if you want to, of course, there's no pressure, but I would thoroughly recommend it..."

Quirrell just looked at her blankly. He couldn't bring himself to care, or even make the effort to listen. He wanted to go back to bed. "Mm."

She held out a prescription for numerous drugs, which almost definitely wouldn't make any difference. Sleeping pills to stop dementors nightmares. He almost laughed. "Take the help, Quirinus. You can get better if you work at it. It'll take time, but you'll recover."

"Th-thanks." He replied blandly, and was all set to tear the prescription up once he was outside the office, but his mother snatched it from him and pocketed it.

"Don't even try." She scolded. "We're going to pick this medication up now, okay?"

"Y-you can, I'm g-going home."

"Do you have a drivers licence?"

Quirrell stopped, and glared at her. "No, b-but…I can d-drive."

"Not legally. And none of us want you in a prison cell." Her eyes widened as she realised what she'd said and she hastily shook her head. "I'm so sorry, that was stupid. I didn't think."

Quirrell just held out his hand for the car keys.

XxX

They'd locked all the knives away. Quirrell rummaged around the cabinets, his frustration growing with each passing second. For fuck's sake, he wasn't going to stab himself. He needed a knife to cut up food. Not for himself, he still couldn't eat a thing, but as a token of gratitude for his parents taking him in, he'd planned on making them dinner. Which wasn't going to happen if there weren't any god damn knives available.

He'd use his wand, but that had been taken away from him too. His mother barely used magic herself seeing as they lived in the muggle world, and his dad was a muggle so that was out. As a result they'd decided allowing Quirrell to use his wand could be dangerous, so that was away somewhere.

"Ugh!" He kicked at the cabinet, wandering around the small kitchen. The knives had to be somewhere. This was ridiculous.

"What are you doing?" His father stood in the doorway, looking at him with concern.

"Where - where d'you k-keep the -"

"You never cook."

"T-trying to be nice, but - but no knives!" Quirrell snapped, blushing at his god-awful speech. "And - I can c-cook! If I'm - I'm gonna be st-staying for a bit, I m-might as well -"

His father reached up to the higher cabinet, withdrawing a small key from his pocket to unlock it. He then got a kitchen knife and handed it over to Quirrell. "There you go."

Quirrell glowered at the cabinet and the key now back in his father's hand. "That's g-gonna get really an-annoying..."

"I know, son, and I'm sorry. But it's necessary, apparently. Just gotta work through it until..."

"Until what, I'm c-cured? Please..." He began cutting up the vegetables, scowling. His father watched him for a while, before he eventually spoke again.

"I have news that might cheer you up a little."

"En-enlighten me." Quirrell responded bleakly. "Is V-Voldemort alive aft-ter all?"

His father flinched noticeably. "Enough of that talk. It's verging on Stockholm syndrome."

"Add an-another thing to my - my list of issues." Quirrell snorted. "Go on, th-then. What news?"

"Your mother stumbled across Jamie. Remember him? The young food delivery man, who you used to have a crush on."

Quirrell looked up to glare at him. "Where're you g-going with this?"

"Well it turns out he's free tomorrow, and he's been dying to see you, so...We figured it'd be good for you to attempt to socialise more and -"

The knife fell from Quirrell's grip and clattered against the counter. "Wh- what? You d-did what? You or-organised a date for m-me?" He gripped the edge of the counter with both hands, all colour draining from his already pale face. "You're c-crazy!"

"Not a date." His father said hurriedly. "Just a meeting between two friends."

"Oh my God!" He couldn't breathe. "No! P-please, you can't be s-serious!"

"Look, it's nothing major, Quirinus, he just wants to see how you are."

"So - so you told him I'm a f-freak? P-perfect!" Quirrell shakily took a step away from the counter, running his hands through his hair. "No! C-call him and cancel it! There's no way in - in hell!"

"It's not meant to make you upset. It might be good for you, to talk to someone else, someone your own age..."

Before he could stop himself, Quirrell picked up one of the plates and hurled it with all his might against the wall. It shattered into several jagged pieces all over the kitchen floor, and he didn't wait around for his father's response. Instead, he ran for the door, yanking it open and escaping from the confining house, his breathing restricted. Fuck! They could set it up however they liked, this was blatant match-making. And with the delivery guy who he hadn't seen for a year? And wasn't remotely interested in knowing anymore? What a joke!

"Not - not my soulmate." He muttered bitterly to himself. Voldemort would've found this hilarious, he knew that for sure. "Can you b-believe this? C-crazy."

Voldemort would've told him ways to get out of it. Told him to stick up for himself more and have his say in all of this. But that was easier said than done, and Voldemort wasn't around anymore. "I h-hate you, you b-bastard." He mumbled dejectedly.

He waited a while before he grudgingly returned to the house due to how cold it was getting. Once inside, his parents acted like nothing was wrong, and the plate had been repaired. No one mentioned his mood swing or the so-called date, and Quirrell dared himself to believe that he'd gotten out of it.

"So, Jamie wants to see you next week." His mother told him as she poured herself a drink. "I think it's a good idea. For you to talk."

"Y-you've always wanted me – me to get with that g-guy." Quirrell pointed out, too tired now to even argue.

"No I haven't."

"Well, I d-don't want to see h-him. Things are d-different now. With – with me."

"That's why you should see him. Talk to someone else besides us. And you know, you barely talk to us anyway, so why not give Jamie a try?"

"'C-cause I hate people." Quirrell responded as he walked away. "And he's a m-muggle."

"Oh, don't tell me You-Know-Who's attitude rubbed off on you!" She shuddered. "So you're disregarding your father because he's not magic?"

"D-don't be stupid." Quirrell stopped at the stairs. "I'm s-saying, he's a muggle, so – so he won't know why I'm m-messed up to such an ex-extent. And it's o-obvious to any wizard or – or witch where I've b-been, isn't it?"

"Only because it was in all the papers." His mother tried. "And you saw the latest Prophet: 'Quirinus Quirrell is innocent'. Not that I had any doubt in the first place, but some people are always quick to assume…"

"Y-you included. You d-don't believe me when – whenever I say how nice V-Voldemort was."

"That's because he was a Dark Lord who threw you in Azkaban, dear. Manipulation was his middle name."

"Oh, shut – shut up." Quirrell muttered, resuming his walk up the stairs.

"Saturday night next week." She called after him, "Jamie's looking forward to it, so make sure you're smiling."

Quirrell slammed his bedroom door shut behind him.


	2. Chapter 2

First step to moving on from Quirrell was to throw himself into a seriously intense work-out regime. Then maybe pick up some new hobbies. Or maybe even find a decent place to live, seeing as he was basically in a fucking shack. So much for a back-up place for the Dark Lord. The Death Eaters hadn't exactly done a great job when they'd built the place for him all those years ago. Ah well. At least they weren't here to irritate him anymore.

Voldemort took a gulp of his water, breathing heavily through his nose. He hadn't even counted the number of sit-ups he'd just done, but his abdomen was aching so it'd obviously been more than his previous best.

"So," He said out loud, taking a seat. "Now what?" What was he meant to do if he had no desire to kill Potter anymore? And he wasn't going to interfere in Quirrell's life anymore, no way. Besides, he had no idea where the man would've gone after Azkaban. He could be anywhere. Back at Hogwarts? No. Old apartment in the Wizarding World? Probably not. Maybe even in an entirely different country!

_Could be dead._ Voldemort shuddered, hurriedly drinking some more water. No, no, not dead. Not Quirrell. But he really could be anywhere, with anyone. Voldemort just hoped he was safe and being looked after by someone.

XxX

Jamie looked just as lovely as Quirrell had remembered – that brown scruffy hair and decent physique, plus the stubble that he managed to pull off. Whenever Quirrell didn't shave he looked like a homeless person.

Not that Jamie's nice looks actually mattered at all. Quirrell wasn't remotely interested in him, not even as a friend. He didn't even want to socialise, yet here they both were.

Jamie had picked him up from the house, and after a lot of awkward debating, they'd decided on just hanging out in a small coffee place.

"I c-can't eat right n-now." Quirrell had tried to explain, self-consciously zipping up his coat so the guy wouldn't notice quite how thin he was.

"Yeah, sure, no problem." Jamie had dismissed as they walked into the local town. "How about drinking?"

"K-kinda."

"Any preference?"

"Um..."

"Coffee? Tea? Going mad on whiskey?"

Quirrell had managed a tiny smile. "C-coffee's good."

"Awesome, I know a good place. Owner loves me."

_Lovely looking. But a bit pretentious._

So now they were sitting on one of the small tables with their coffee, and neither of them said much. Which suited Quirrell fine, seeing as this hadn't been his idea anyway.

"Staying with your parents for a bit?" Jamie eventually asked, even though he already knew the answer.

"Not ex-exactly by choice." Quirrell responded bitterly. "N-nowhere else to - to go."

"Right." There was another silence. "So," Jamie commented after a while. "That school you worked at really did a number on you, huh?"

"What?" Quirrell glanced up, startled.

"I just mean, the last time I saw you, you'd been given a job offer at some boarding school, and now you're back looking like the students have repeatedly ran you over with a truck." Jamie laughed.

Quirrell flinched and out his mug down with shaking hands. "Th-thanks." He replied quietly.

"Oh, I didn't mean - You look gorgeous, as always. Wait, I didn't - I just mean that you look really - can I start over?"

Quirrell managed a small smile, feeling his face heat up slightly at the compliment. "T-truth is, I wasn't ac-actually at - at the sc-school too long." He admitted. "St-stuff happened."

Jamie nodded carefully. "Yeah. I kind of figured there was something else."

"O-Obvious, right?" Quirrell smiled humourlessly. "I'm not g-gonna talk a-about it, though."

"Sure. It's not my business." He replied. "But I take it you won't be going back to the school, then?"

"No w-way in h-hell."

"So you'll be around here for a while?"

"I g-guess."

"I'm pleased to hear that." Jamie told him with a smile so nice it made Quirrell blush again. "Not about you losing the job, obviously. But that you'll be staying."

He was really nervous about where this was going. "J-Jamie, uh..." He swallowed. "I'm a f-fuck-up. You d-don't wanna spend t-time with m-me."

"You're not a fuck-up, Quirinus." He told him, before his smile widened. "And yes, I do."

"Th-then you're as c-crazy as I am." Quirrell snorted. "I'm d-doped up on drugs h-half the time."

"To help you. They don't make you any less of a good person. Neither do your mental illnesses."

Quirrell paused for a moment, looking at him. "Huh. Y-you're pretty nice." _But you're not Voldemort and I hate you for it.  
_  
Jamie laughed. "I try. But I mean it. I don't see your depression. I just see you, and I like you."

Quirrell really doubted that. It was a ridiculous concept. "Th-thanks..." He began, but was interrupted from saying anything else.

"Will you let me take you out again sometime? Even if it's just for another coffee?"

"I...I d-don't..." Quirrell bit his lip.

"Look, don't stress over it, it's no big deal." Jamie raised his hands in surrender. "I just want you to know that I mean what I say."

Quirrell finished his coffee with a small nod. "I just d-don't think it's a g-good idea."

"Why? Because you're not feeling good at the moment? That doesn't matter to me."

"It m-matters to me." Quirrell retorted, before he shrugged. "But th-thanks. I'll...think a-about it."

Jamie grinned. "Great! And who knows, maybe this'll make you a bit better."

Quirrell frowned heavily. "W-what, talking to - to you? Yeah, I'm c-cured already!"

The grin fell instantly. "That's not what I meant."

"F-fuck, man, I've never h-heard anything as - as arrogant as th-that!" Quirrell stood from the table, relieved to now have an excuse to do so, grabbing his coat. "Th-thanks for the c-coffee. See y-you around."

"Quirinus, please, I swear I didn't mean for it to sound like that." Jamie stood too. "At least let me walk you back to your house."

"I-I'm not a child."

"I know. It's common courtesy."

"Only if - if there's a p-promise of sex. Which b-believe me, th-there isn't!" He shrugged his coat on, zipping it up.

"What? Oh, c'mon, that's not true. You've been watching too many movies."

"N-nothing else to - to do in that h-house."

"Look, Quirinus, I'm not offering to walk you home because I think I'll get a quick fuck out of it. That's stupid! I respect you."

Quirrell rolled his eyes. "You d-don't even know m-me."

"But I'd like to." He chuckled slightly. "Besides, your parents are in that house. Maybe one day you can come back to my place."

"Ugh!" Quirrell all but yelled, causing a lot of people to look up in surprise. "Seriously? G-get lost!"

"Oh, Quirinus, that was a joke -"

"No, no, th-that is not okay. D-don't ever say that to me!" Quirrell snapped. "Y'think I'm just g-gonna jump into b-bed with you? How s-self-absorbed are you?"

"No! No, listen -"

"I'm d-done with listening." Quirrell replied stonily, already walking. He left the cafe and didn't wait for him. He just kept going until he reached his parents' house, which took the best of thirty minutes because he was already so tired.

By the time he'd entered the house there had been two messages on his phone from the guy,  
apologising profusely. Quirrell ignored them until his phone beeped again, and again, and eventually he sighed. Fine. He'd go on another date.

XxX

"I was thinking maybe somewhere else tonight. Not that I don't love coffee with you, of course, but maybe somewhere a little more upmarket."

It was a month later and Quirrell had found himself in what seemed to be some sort of relationship with Jamie, and he didn't really know what to think about that at the moment. Maybe he just shouldn't think. It only made things worse. "I st-still don't eat m-much." He pointed out as they walked. "And I d-don't exactly have a ton of – of money."

"How about soup, then?"

"Soup's m-more upmarket?" Jamie flicked Quirrell's nose, making him grin. "Sorry, Vol - Jamie." Shit, that was becoming a habit, always almost blurting out Voldemort's name instead of the man he was standing next to right now. "Look, t-take me wherever, I d-don't really care."

"Okay, then." Jamie took his hand, and Quirrell resisted the overwhelming urge to yank it away. He didn't like contact anymore. "I know a place and – "

"The o-owner loves you, r-right?"

"Will you quit it?" Jamie laughed, pulling him along easily.

"It b-better be cheap, o-okay? But, like, not so ch-cheap that it's all t-tacky."

"It's a nice place, the prices are fine, and it's quiet. Is that alright for his Highness?"

"I'll s-survive." Quirrell replied.

"Besides, I'm paying for it. So it doesn't matter, does it?"

Quirrell frowned. "But - you p-paid last time."

"So?"

"So isn't it my – my turn? Or we c-could split the t-tab or something?"

"I don't mind paying, Quirinus. Besides, you…" He trailed off, clearing his throat. "You don't have a job."

Quirrell blushed. "Th-thanks for the reminder. I'm t-trying."

"I know, I know you are, and I'm really proud of you." Jamie said earnestly. "It's just, I don't want you borrowing off your parents to pay for our dates, or –"

"I d-don't." Quirrell retorted, his blush only deepening. This was so embarrassing. "It – it's my own m-money. I have a b-bank account, y'know."

"Oh, right, sure." He cleared his throat again. "Sorry, I just…"

"B-basically, I can pay for my – my own stuff, okay?" Quirrell cut across him. "And I d-don't wanna argue a-about it. So…t-take me to this p-place."

"You're still trying for a job, right?" Jamie asked carefully as they entered the restaurant. "'Cause listen, you don't need to just look for teaching opportunities, there are tons of other options."

"I l-like teaching." Quirrell replied simply as they were shown to a free table, immediately sitting down.

"Yeah, sure, I know. But…"

"_What_?" Quirrell all but groaned in exasperation.

"Nothing, it's just that you hated the interviews. You broke down after every one."

"Sh-shut up, Jamie." Quirrell snapped, blushing again as he ordered himself a beer, suddenly really needing it. "I'm w-working on it."

"But you don't need to keep putting yourself in this situation. It only gets you more anxious." He attempted, before shaking his head. "Alright, I'll shut up. You know what's best."

"Th-thanks." Quirrell muttered back, looking forward to going home to his bed already.

"Oh, Quirinus, don't go sulky on me." Jamie grinned, reaching for his hand that was rested on top of the table. Quirrell instantly withdrew it. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean for that to sound bad."

"You – you say that a lot."

"Yeah. I know. I suck, don't I?"

"Meh." Quirrell shrugged. "I – I'm still st-sticking around."

"Thank God for that." Jamie replied with another smile. "I am sorry, though. Let me make it up to you."

Quirrell tried not to pull a face at that. "St-still no sex. Sorry."

"That's not what I meant." He snorted. "I'm thinking more getting you dessert."

"I'm not even h-hungry for regular f-food." Quirrell told him, glancing down at his menu.

"Then what else can I do? Massage you?"

Quirrell grimaced. "Ugh, are – are you serious?"

"Only slightly. Buy you some new clothes rather than those sweaters?"

"You c-can't buy my affection, l-loser." Quirrell threw a napkin at him. "And – and my sweaters are g-great. I'm f-freezing!"

"Oh! I have an idea. We can go to a spa together. Guaranteed warmth, and the two of us topless."

"O-over my dead b-body. I don't do spas. Or b-being topless." Quirrell gestured to himself. "I'm d-doing us both a f-favour."

"As if. Alright then, no dessert, massages, new clothes, or spas. So what do you like?"

"B-books. Romance. G-gardens." Quirrell told him. "But like I s-said, you can't b-buy my affection."

"I'm not trying to. I hope I have your affection already. Do I?"

"Meh." Quirrell repeated with a smile. "Y-you're okay."

Jamie laughed. "You're a dick, but I like you. It'd be impossible not to."

"I f-feel the same about y-you." Quirrell replied truthfully. "So I g-guess if you really w-want to make it up to – to me, you can k-keep seeing me. No one else w-wants to."

"Only because you don't give others a chance." Jamie pointed out. "But I'll be more than happy to keep seeing you. So, does this make you my boyfriend or what?"

"Uh…" Quirrell faltered. Damned if he knew. "Y-yeah, sure, I guess."

His first boyfriend. Wow. He suddenly really wanted to go back to bed and cry, and not exactly from happiness.

Jamie took Quirrell's hand and kissed it, and the gesture was so over the top it made Quirrell cringe. "So, ah…yeah!" He chuckled awkwardly, prising his hand away. "G-great!"

"It is." Jamie breathed back, before leaning across the small table to kiss him. His first kiss. In _public_. With someone who wasn't his soulmate.

Quirrell flinched, sitting back in his chair and resisting the urge to wipe at his mouth. "Um, s-sorry, I'm…j-jumpy…"

"I know, that's okay. I'll wait."

_For what? More kisses? _More_ than kissing?_ "O-okay…"

"I mean it, Quirinus. I'll look after you. You don't need to feel pressured into anything, alright?" Jamie smiled at him warmly, clearly not noticing how uncomfortable he was.

Quirrell just nodded back feebly. "Sure. O-okay."

It didn't feel okay. It felt all wrong. Because this man wasn't Voldemort. No one would ever be like his Voldemort.

_Damn it. _

XxX

_You could've taken care of him. _

Voldemort huffed in irritation as the voice in his head chimed up yet again. How many times did he have to tell himself that he wasn't going to interfere in Quirrell's life anymore? Besides, the man almost definitely wanted nothing to do with him, and no wonder. He'd been out of Azkaban for a few months now. He'd be fine!

Voldemort grimaced as he realised he had no idea how long Azkaban trauma lasted. It was probably different for everyone. But hey, Quirrell was tough. He'd probably got a new job and house and maybe even a partner. He was almost definitely doing great.

So if that were the case, Voldemort could maybe…just find out whereabouts Quirrell was staying, just to make sure he really was alright. What if he was actually living in poverty or something awful? Thinking about it, it'd be hard for him to find a job after coming out of Azkaban, it was only logical. So if Voldemort just checked up on him. Nothing major. He could totally do that, and it wouldn't be interfering in Quirrell's life, right? Right!

**Please review :3 **


	3. Chapter 3

3

"So, are you gonna do any more interviews, or is that you done?"

Quirrell simply clicked the next TV channel, gulping the last of his beer. "I g-got one t-tomorrow."

"You do? Great! So are you going to prepare for that?" Jamie took the TV remote from his hand. "Quirinus?"

"Y-yeah, sure."

"'Cause you look like you've already quit before you've even gone. And do your parents know you're drinking that?"

"Oh my God," Quirrell rolled his eyes, "I – I'm twenty th-three. I can d-drink whatever I w-want."

"I don't think alcohol and anti-depressants mix well." Jamie countered, taking the empty bottle from Quirrell's hand. "But again, you know what's best, don't you?"

"Uh-huh…" Quirrell tried to continue watching TV. "C-can you move to the s-side for a second?"

"Do you want to go outside? It's a nice day. We could go to the lake, feed the ducks, anything."

"Mm…I d-don't feel like it." Quirrell replied. "G-gotta rest for that in-interview and all."

"You've been 'resting' for the past week." Jamie raised an eyebrow. "And it's not even resting. It's hiding."

"Shut up."

"Your parents are worried about you."

"Th-they always are."

"You do realise this isn't exactly fun for me, right? Watching you laze around and watch TV while you drink all your parents' booze?"

Quirrell frowned at him. "I d-didn't _ask_ you to c-come over."

"We're concerned you're getting worse." He responded simply, and Quirrell scowled.

"I h-have an interview t-tomorrow! I'm b-being proactive!"

He scoffed. "Hardly."

"Oh, j-just get lost. I d-didn't ask you." Quirrell grouched, pushing himself up into a sitting position.

"Quirinus, please. Just come outside for an hour. That's all, one hour."

"No. I'm g-gonna prepare for this…th-thing." Quirrell ran a hand through his hair. "It's a m-middle school nearby. If I'm lucky, I c-can sub other c-classes for extra m-money. If I even get the m-main job."

"Just be confident." Jamie took his hands. "Smile a lot. Slow your speech down so your stutter doesn't worsen. You'll be great."

Quirrell looked at him doubtfully. "You think?"

"I do. So fine, you go prepare for that, and I'll see you later. Tonight?"

"P-probably not, I gotta go s-sleep early. I'll be – be a wreck t-tomorrow if I don't." Quirrell replied, but blew him a kiss. "I'll t-text you though. And – and we can go out on Th-Thursday."

He smiled slightly. "Alright, then. Tell me how it goes." He kissed Quirrell's forehead. "And good luck."

XxX

"I'm n-never _ever_ going for a-another fucking interview." Quirrell snapped as he walked through the front door, throwing his briefcase to the side.

His mother glanced up from the newspaper she was reading. "I take it that it didn't go well?"

"That s-school is – ridiculous!" Quirrell tugged off his tie furiously. "They t-tried to get me to – to go to a class and introduce my-myself to all the kids!"

"Isn't that what teachers do every day? Stand up in front of kids?"

"Ugh!" Was Quirrell's only response.

"Well, what was the issue?"

"The – the _issue_ is that I wasn't p-prepared! I d-didn't know what to – to do!" He huffed angrily. "So – I f-freaked! In f-front of 'em all. I can't do it, o-okay? I c-can't teach anymore."

"That's not true." His mother told him. "I think you're rushing into everything too fast. There's no hurry to find a job. No one can blame you for finding it difficult."

"Th-that's not what Jamie thinks."

"Then ignore him."

"I f-feel so embarrassed, o-okay? You don't g-get it! I don't w-wanna stay here f-forever and have p-people looking over me all – all the time! But if I c-can't even get a damn job…" His phone buzzed, a text from Jamie, asking if he'd got an offer. "Look, if he c-comes round, tell him to f-fuck off."

"I'll say it in a nicer way, but fine." His mother looked back at the newspaper, absent-mindedly turning the page. "Look at this article. It's so strange."

"If – if it's the Prophet, I'll p-pass." Quirrell replied tiredly, though he did take a seat next to her on the couch.

"There's been sightings of a man in a hood wandering around all the Wizarding towns at midnight. You don't think it's a Death Eater, do you?"

"You s-say that like I'm c-close to any of 'em." Quirrell rolled his eyes, but he did look over the article, frowning. "Huh. C-creepy."

"Whenever anyone nearby went to investigate he'd vanish. So it's not a muggle that's lost or anything…"

"Duh. It c-could be anyone, though. A d-dumb teenager trying to sc-scare people, even. I d-don't think any Death Eaters w-would pull that trick. Not with V-Voldemort being…" He swallowed. "Y'know, n-not around anymore."

"Didn't stop them before. And then they brought him back."

"O-only 'cause of me, remember?" Quirrell blushed slightly. "That was my f-fault. There's no way he'll c-come back now. I h-heard all the hor-horcrux's were destroyed."

"Just as well. Still…" His mother closed the paper. "This is weird. I hope they catch whoever this man is."

"He's not d-doing any harm. M-maybe he just likes w-walking around at night." Quirrell stretched tiredly. "I'm d-dead, I gotta go sleep."

"You do that, then. I'll send Jamie away if he shows up."

"P-please." He hesitated for a moment. "D'you r-really think I can still t-teach?"

"They don't call you the brightest professor for nothing." His mother replied, looking up at him with a smile. "You'll make it."

"Y-yeah, about that…" Quirrell began, nervously, tugging at his sleeves. "I was w-wondering if, um…I c-could have my wand b-back?" He saw his mother's face fall and he hastily elaborated. "J-just for f-flowers and things, jeez. No D-disapparating or d-dumb stuff, I swear. I j-just really want my – my wand."

"Haven't you mastered wandless magic?"

"It's not the s-same, and you kn-know it." Quirrell coughed in embarrassment. "And…and it d-doesn't work w-when I'm anxious or m-miserable, so it's p-pretty useless now, huh?"

"I don't know, Quirinus. I'm not sure if…"

"I – I'm not a kid, c'mon. I can m-make my own d-decisions. Just t-tell me where you've h-hidden it."

"Not yet. How about when you get a job?"

"We've b-been through this! And – and you t-told me to take my t-time with that!" Quirrell laughed. "Give me my w-wand."

"No, Quirinus." She replied firmly. "And don't ask again."

"This – this is crazy. I'm not a b-baby, I'm a g-grown man." His voice darkened. "You realise t-treating me like a p-prisoner is gonna make every-everything so much worse, d-don't you?"

"We're looking out for you." His mother told him. "It's as simple as that. We don't think you're well enough to be in control of a wand just yet. Soon, maybe."

"H-how soon is soon?"

"When you've been to therapy for a whole two months."

"This is – ridiculous!" He snapped. "Therapy's useless. I h-hate it. And I hate b-being here." He began to walk to the stairs. "I'm g-going to bed."

He was going to get his own way whether they liked it or not. Besides, he'd practically already started making his own decisions. They wouldn't like it once they found out, but fuck it, that wasn't his problem.

They weren't looking out for him, they were force-feeding him. He couldn't do anything without it being questioned. Well, he'd show them just how capable he was soon enough. He could do this alone.


	4. Chapter 4

**Darker chapter here, but it lightens up slightly towards the end. Just a warning! **

Going through every Wizarding town hadn't been easy, and had taken up a lot of Voldemort's time. Suddenly his mission to just have a little look and see how Quirrell was doing had completely escalated. So much so that he had even used Legilimency as a last resort for some clues, which disgusted himself. As if Quirrell hadn't been through enough because of him, and now Voldemort was forcing himself into his dreams? Damn it, what was wrong with him?

Although it hadn't been pleasant, it had at least shown him where Quirrell was staying: A common muggle town. How...degrading to go from the brightest wizard around to staying in this kind of establishment.

Maybe that wasn't fair - maybe Quirrell didn't have any choice. Or maybe he had bigger concerns, which was understandable. God, Voldemort sucked.

At least he didn't need to wear a big cloak while wondering around this town. From the looks of it, it was crowded with everyday muggles, but to be safe he was wearing a jacket with its hood up, something he'd found while searching for Quirrell. It wasn't in the best condition, but it was comfortable and enough for him to blend in, so whatever. Like his clothes mattered.

"Hey, excuse me?" Voldemort asked the first guy he saw. He was good-looking enough, but their was an air or arrogance around him too that screamed 'muggle asshole'. "I'm looking for someone," He continued, deeming it safe to push his hood off, slicking back his hair. "I was wondering if..."

"Oh, sure." The man replied, a bit distracted as his phone started ringing. "Sorry, let me take this, then I'll see what I can do."

"Whatever, yeah." Voldemort replied, trying not to show his irritation. "You get right on that."

"Quirinus, you okay?" The man asked instantly as he answered the call, and Voldemort froze. "Listen, calm down, tell me what happened."

It was him, wasn't it? It was Quirrell! How many other guys had the first name 'Quirinus'? God, this was way too convenient to be a coincidence.

"You know why they locked them away, and no one's out to get you." The man continued, sounding exhausted. "Now listen, and I want you to answer me honestly, alright? Are you taking your pills?"

Whoa, what was going on here? Was Quirrell alright? Was he sick? Voldemort bit his lip hard to refrain from asking.

"For God's sake, don't yell at me like that, and tell me the truth!" The man retorted. "You're not, are you? Do you know how fucking serious this is? They're for your own good!"

Voldemort scowled at the way the man was talking to him. If Quirrell wasn't taking whatever pills for whatever reason, there were better ways to go about it than yell at him. "Hey, look -"

The man shook his head at him before continuing. "I'm coming over, okay? And - Oh, no, don't give me that. This has been a series of bad days! You call me up every fucking morning crying over something!" He paused, clenching his jaw. "Don't talk to you like what? Like you're sick? You are sick! That's why you need to take your medicine! Will we all need to monitor you now like you're some baby? You're a grown man!"

Alright, enough was enough. "Hey!" Voldemort snapped before he could stop himself, and the man blinked at him in surprise.

"Look, I'll come round in a bit, alright?" He then muttered to Quirrell before he disconnected the call. "I'm sorry, that was a bit much. Domestic problems that shouldn't be shouted in he middle of the street." He laughed awkwardly, rubbing his cheek. "It's hard work."

"You don't need to talk to him like that. Uh, whoever it was you were talking to." Voldemort gestured. "I mean, if he's not feeling well, he doesn't have to take medicine."

"My boyfriend is severely depressed." The man replied with a raised eyebrow after looking at him for a moment."He needs to take that medicine to even get out of bed. But thanks for your input."

There was a silence, as Voldemort felt like he'd been punched in the stomach. "Wha - _boyfriend_? Depressed?"

"And suffering from major PTSD and anxiety." The man continued, rubbing his forehead. "And if he's not taking those anti-depressants, no wonder he's in such a state all the time. Fuck. Sorry, I really have to go, you might need to ask someone else..."

"No, wait, hold up!" Voldemort all but wheezed. "Boyfriend?"

"Some men have boyfriends." He replied obnoxiously, as if Voldemort was a complete moron.

"No, duh, that's not what - but Quirrell doesn't have a - "

The man stopped, looking at him in surprise. "Excuse me? You know my boyfriend?"

"Uh." He hesitated. "Yeah, I do. Quirinus Quirrell, right? We're...old friends."

"He's never mentioned you." He retorted rudely.

"Well, I haven't told you my name." Voldemort pointed out, aware that his hands were shaking. "So - so how long have you two been a thing?"

"A month, give or take." He replied smoothly, looking him up and down. "Well, I'm guessing he's who you were looking for, right? So how about you come with me and we go and see him?"

A white hot jealously pulsed through him. A month? God, what did that even entail? Had this douche been Quirrell's first kiss? He could do so much better than this guy! "I...No, that's probably not a good idea." He managed feebly.

"I insist. Hey, maybe you can finally shed some light on why he's like this. What caused him to have such a breakdown. Being an old friend and everything."

"Oh, he...he didn't say?" Voldemort replied stupidly. Of course he hadn't said, this dude was a muggle! "Well, it's not my business to tell you, so..."

"I'd really appreciate it."

"And I don't give a fuck what you'd appreciate." Voldemort snapped. "It's Quirrell's business."

"Wow, some friend. Won't even refer to him by his first name. How respectful."

"He hates the name Quirinus." Voldemort replied with a small smirk. "Maybe that's why he's pissed at you right now."

He smiled grimly back. "Why don't you want to see him?"

"I don't want to interfere if he's upset." He said lamely, and them suddenly froze. "And don't tell him you saw me either."

"Oh?"

"Yeah. You really can't."  
"And why not?"

Damn, this guy was getting to get hit with the Cruciatus curse, wasn't he? "'Cause I'm telling you right now, if you do..." He lowered his voice. "You'll make 'im miserable, and you'll have me to answer to."

"How many other weird ex-boyfriends am I gonna have to deal with here?"

"I'm not his ex!" Voldemort snapped, trying to ignore how his heart raced at that. "And as a matter of fact, you're Quirrell's first. Did he fail to mention that?"

There was a silence, and the man turned away from him. "I need to see if he's alright. Don't come sniffing around anymore, got it? It's the last thing either of us need."

"Now hold on -" Voldemort stopped himself from doing anything he'd regret, and instead just watched the guy hurry off.

Fuck, that had been Quirrell's _boyfriend_. And...and Quirrell wasn't well at all, was he? Oh God. What the hell had Voldemort done to him?

XxX

Quirrell covered his ears, sitting with his back against the back of the sofa as Jamie continued to knock loudly on the front door. He'd closed all the curtains so the room was dark and he couldn't see anyone, but he could hear him and he wouldn't go away.

"Quirinus! Open the damn door!" The hammering intensified, "Please, you're scaring me!"

He wasn't scary. He was perfectly fine.

"Is this because you can't get a job? That doesn't matter! If I've been pressuring you, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to. Let me in!"

Quirrell closed his eyes, pressing forcefully against his ears. Why were they doing this? Why couldn't they leave him alone? There was nothing wrong with him. He hadn't been taking his medication for weeks now, and he was fine.

"I'll break the door down! I will!"

He couldn't do that. He'd need to pay for it if he did. Quirrell's parents would be pissed.

"Do you want your parents to come back here and find you like this? They'll send you away!"

Quirrell's eyes opened and he slowly lowered his hands, his heart best increasing. Away? But he had no where else to go. What did that mean? "G-go away!"

"Maybe it's for the best, maybe you do need a hospital. Open up!"

Hospital? Like a psychiatric ward? This was such bullshit! He shakily stood and made his way to the door, even though his mind screamed at him to go back. He unlocked the front door, and opened it, squaring up and trying to stay calm. "There's n-nothing wrong w-with me."

Jamie looked like he was torn between shoving him and hugging him. Eventually he just breathed out slowly. "Can I come in?"

"Are you g-gonna take me to h-hospital?" Quirrell challenged.

"Are you going to take your meds?"

"No. I d-don't like them. I don't n-need them."

Jamie took another few moments. "Quirinus, you barricaded yourself indoors."

"'C-cause no one will leave me- me alone."

"You called me up crying because you couldn't find something. What was it this time? A kitchen knife? A box of matches? Things that've been locked away for your own good?"

_My wand, you bastard_. Quirrell swallowed and didn't say anything.

"Listen to me. You're severely depressed."

"S-so?" Quirrell's voice cracked.

"So we're trying to help you. That's all we seem to do. And you're already throwing away medication that was beginning to have an effect. Why?"

"I t-told you. I don't l-like 'em. They m-make me feel sick." Quirrell managed, his voice barely above a whisper now.

"Right, okay. There's other possible medication. Why didn't you say anything instead of hiding it? We could've sorted something out earlier."

"I'm f-fine."

"Please. Can I come in?"

Quirrell bit his lip. "No. Y-you'll ruin the qu-quiet."

"Sorry?"

"It's so n-nice. There's so m-much screaming and c-crying in Azkaban. But here it's qu-quiet."

"Uh-huh..." Jamie said slowly as he reached to gently take Quirrell's hand. "Babe, please let me in. I promise I'll stay quiet, alright?"

Jamie was never quiet. He was so annoying. Still... "O-okay. Not for - for long."

"Sure, just to make sure you're safe." Jamie replied as he hesitantly made his way into the house, still holding Quirrell's hand. Once in the living room, he helped Quirrell sit on the couch and glanced around at all the closed curtains, clearly a little unsettled. "Maybe you should eat. Have you had anything today?"

"No."

"Alright, I'll see if your parents have anything. You just stay here, yeah?"

Quirrell nodded and watched him go, and saw him slide his phone out his pocket. "H-hey, you're c-calling someone." He blurted. "St-stop. Who're you c-calling?"

Jamie sighed and didn't turn around. "You need help."

"M-maybe." Quirrell hastily stood as Jamie turned to face him. "Maybe I - I do. I'll take my m-medicine! Right n-now."

"You will? You'll start taking it again?"

"Any-anything. I promise. J-just, please, don't send me a-away!" His voice cracked. "Not a - a hospital. Please!"

Jamie carefully enveloped him in a gentle hug, and Quirrell cried into his shoulder, absolutely terrified. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry, I don't know why I said that. No one's taking you anywhere." He told him. "I swear. We're just worried."

"I'll - take the p-pills." Quirrell sobbed. "I'm - sorry!"

"It's ok. Well, it's not ok, that's the point, but I'm not angry. Ssh." Jamie continued to hold him, patting his back, clearly still nervous about the whole situation. "Um, you can stop crying now."

That only made it worse, because he physically couldn't stop. And it was getting really hard to breathe. "D-don't - send me - away!"

"I'm not, I just said I wasn't!"

"Az-Azkaban last t-time - now hospital - n-nothing wrong with me!"

"I don't know what Azkaban is, but you're not going to any hospital. And I know, there's nothing wrong, per se. You're just..." He trailed off. "Sick."

"Y-yeah, maybe. A - a little." Quirrell finally admitted through his small sobs. "But - but nothing serious."

"Quirinus."

"I'm f-fine. I'm normal."

"You are normal, but you also have serious issues here, and you know it. You've been sitting in the dark here for, what, four hours?"

"It's qu-quiet."

"Quirinus, I think you're having some sort of breakdown." He said plainly. "Or maybe this is the first time I'm seeing you this bad. Is that it?"

"Um, I - I..." Quirrell swallowed. "This is k-kinda...the new n-normal."

Jamie sighed, before lifting Quirrell's head up and kissing him. Quirrell was beginning to get used to kissing; it was nice, and reassuring, and made him feel a little tingly. No fireworks or anything, nothing like what his books had told him. But life wasn't a fucking romance novel. Those things weren't real. Shame it had taken him so long to realise that.

"Better?" Jamie asked as they parted. "Now, take your pills."

"I - I will. I'll st-start tomorrow."

Jamie's eyes narrowed slightly. "Go upstairs and take them."

"J-just give me a m-minute, 'til I can b-breathe." Quirrell snapped, his shoulders shaking.

"Right. Well, I'll open up some curtains in here, get some light in this house..." Jamie set off to do just that, and Quirrell screwed his eyes up as the sunlight hit the room. "Much better. How're you doing?"

_Wishing I was dead, but apart from that, just peachy_. "F-fine."

"Let's go upstairs, then." Jamie took his hand, beginning to tug him to the stairs. "So I can see you actually take your medicine."

"What a t-turn on." Quirrell replied humourlessly. "You - you don't normally h-hear that after 'let's go upstairs'."

"Oh, Quirinus." Jamie managed a small laugh. "You're so ridiculous. And I couldn't like you more."

Quirrell glanced at him hesitantly. "You m-mean that? After w-what I've done?"

"Cross my heart. But I do want you to at least try and take your pills again. And if they make you too sick, promise we'll try to find other medication."

"D-deal." Quirrell replied, defeated. What was the use in fighting anymore? "I p-promise."

Jamie kissed his forehead once they reached the top of the stairs. "Good. Where are they?"

"Y-your lucky day; they're in the b-bedroom." Quirrell told him as he shoved his door open.

"Holy hell, how do you sleep in here? It's a mess!"

Quirrell blinked, suddenly remembering how often Voldemort had scolded him for being so untidy. He shook his head hurriedly to get himself out of it. "I like it. It's...c-cosy."

"We're cleaning this up." Jamie rolled up his sleeves. "Get things organised. First step to a healthy mind is organisation."

"Oh my God, y-you sound like my -my Mom." Quirrell retrieved his pack of pills and swallowed the two dry. "I'm not c-cleaning anything, man."

"Look at all your clothes on the floor, you lazy thing." Jamie huffed as he got to work, holding up one of Quirrell's discarded sweaters. "Does this even fit? It's huge!"

"N-nothing fits, that's the p-point." Quirrell looked at himself in his mirror, sighing miserably. "I'm so - so hideous. No wonder I b-bundle up in m-multiple layers."

"You're not hideous! Don't say that." Jamie scolded. "Now, help with these clothes. Please tell me you at least out your underwear in a hamper."

"Duh." Quirrell murmured, once again thinking of Voldemort. "I'll m-make my bed, h-how about that?"

"Perfect." Jamie replied, and Quirrell moved to do just that. As he did so, he tripped up on one of his books, and fell in a heap, yelping slightly. Jamie immediately looked up. "Yeah, there's a thing called a shelf, which is perfect for books to go on and would prevent...Are you alright?"

"Um..." He bit his lip fiercely, a shooting pain in his ankle. "My...ouch..."

Jamie instantly helped him sit up, and inspected his ankle. "Holy shit, it's swelling up. It might be sprained."

"D-delicate bones." Quirrell gasped, his face going paler than usual.

"Oh, you moron, come on. Stand up."

"No, stop, really..." Quirrell wheezed as Jamie attempted to lift him. "It - hurts!"

"Shit." Jamie breathed. "Uh, let me...You might need to go to hospital if it's broken. Is that okay?"

"You - said - no hospital."

"This is different, this is physical. I'm sure you'll be absolutely fine, but we should get it looked at it. Then we'll clean this fucking room, it's a hazard."

"F-fine, yeah, anything." Quirrell groaned, closing his eyes, in absolute agony.

"It's those damn books of yours, they're huge. No wonder you're hurt." Jamie muttered as he helped him back downstairs. "Let's get you in the car..."

It took a few hours of waiting, a few discussions between Jamie and the doctor, and Quirrell was diagnosed with a sprained ankle which had been all wrapped up. He even had his own set of crutches and painkillers.

"D-does this mean I'm g-gonna get pampered for - for weeks?" He asked with a dumb smile as Jamie drove them back to the house. Clearly the drugs they'd given him were having an effect. "'C-cause that's fiiine."

"Quirinus, you are absolutely..." Jamie began, before laughing. "You're a dick. Have I told you that?"

"Uh-huh, and right b-back at you." Quirrell smiled, staring out the window. "Thanks for d-driving me."

"Of course." He took a few moments., before slowly saying, "Hey, Quirinus, I saw someone today. A weird looking guy, kinda looked like a snake. He said he knew you. Quirinus?"

But Quirrell had already fallen asleep.


	5. Chapter 5

5

"Roses are so p-pretty. The only t-trouble are these th-thorns, but you can g-get 'em off easily, so it's not too – too bad." Quirrell observed the red rose in his hand, careful not to prick himself.

He and Jamie were sitting in the back garden, even though Quirrell's leg was carefully stretched out in front of him so he didn't irritate his bandaged ankle. It was a sunny enough day, but Quirrell was still bundled up in multiple layers.

"Mm." Was Jamie's only response.

"They d-die so fast, too. But that's the s-same for all f-flowers, I guess. But I p-plant 'em, then they're all w-withered within two – two weeks." Quirrell commented as he gestured to all the flowers around them. "I like d-daffodils, they're my f-favourite. What about y-you?"

Jamie frowned slightly. "I don't know. They're kind of all the same."

"Oh." Quirrell hesitated. "W-well, that's not t-true, but whatever…"

"They all have petals and leaves and make people sneeze. I don't get the big deal."

"But you w-wouldn't call a d-daffodil or rose the same, w-would you?" Quirrell pointed out, a little disheartened that his boyfriend wasn't as fascinated by the plants as Quirrell was. This was the calmest he'd felt in weeks.

"Guess not. Listen, Quirinus, I need to talk to you."

"O-okay." Quirrell replied, passing him over the rose with a smile. "You – you want it?"

"No thanks. Look, it's about you finding a job."

Quirrell had awkwardly moved the rose back, placing it in his lap, but his face fell. "My p-parents told me to t-take my time."

"But you're not a fifteen year old kid, are you?"

"No. But y-you're the one who k-keeps telling me how sick I – I am."

"That's true, but all the same. You're not even trying anymore." Jamie huffed. "And I'm the one paying for everything."

"Okay, you-you're not making sense now." Quirrell countered. "I've explained th-that I have m-money, remember? I'm m-more than happy to p-pay for stuff! And b-besides…" He gestured to himself. "Sp-sprained ankle, remember?"

Jamie's expression softened slightly and he sighed, rubbing his forehead. "Sorry, sorry. I'm not myself today."

"Y-yeah, I can see that." Quirrell hesitantly leaned in and kissed his cheek. "S-something up?"

"It's just – I have a degree in business, y'know? I studied so hard, and I'm delivering food to lazy middle aged people almost every night."

"I f-feel you." Quirrell sighed miserably. "They t-told me I was the b-brightest professor around and that I was g-gonna do so well. Look at – at me now."

Jamie put an arm around his shoulders. "Hey, don't worry. We'll get back on our feet."

"Y-yeah?"

"Yeah. And now it's time for you to _actually_ get on your feet, because we're going out for coffee." Jamie stood, helping Quirrell up so he could hobble back into the house.

"Then I'll p-pay."

"Seriously, Quirinus, don't worry about it. I'm just being grouchy."

"No, but really." Quirrell said as he got his crutches. "I-I'm paying this t-time." Anything to stop making him feel so damn worthless.

XxX

Voldemort didn't even know why he was still sticking around in this shitty town. He hadn't seen Quirrell ever since bumping into the douche that called himself his boyfriend three weeks ago. What was even the point? Quirrell wouldn't want to see him. He should leave before he screwed everything up.

That's what he kept telling himself, but he couldn't bring himself to actually go. Not yet. Just a little while longer. He ordered himself some cake, just so he wouldn't be so hungry later, and managed to Imperio the man behind the till so he didn't have to pay. It wasn't his fault he had no muggle money, and he'd be really screwed if he couldn't eat or sleep anywhere. Besides, there wasn't any real harm in it, anyway.

Except he was meant to be turning over a new leaf and all that. Voldemort huffed as he sat himself down in the far corner of the café, away from everyone else. All these mundane muggles with their boring lives in this crap town. What did they do all day? From the looks of it, drank coffee and took long walks.

Voldemort moodily opened up the newspaper that had been left on the table. There'd been a bicycle collision in town. Some lame garden show. An interview with some kindergarten teachers. Jeez, this place sucked.

"I'm paying."

"I j-just said _I_ was!"

"There's no need, I told you."

"This is g-getting so annoying, J-Jamie!"

Voldemort's head snapped up, and his eyes widened. Shit. Shit, shit, shit, not now. Not _here_! He swallowed, trying to figure out the best escape route, and then he saw Quirrell properly and things seemed to stop for a moment. Fuck, how long had it been?

He looked as lovely as ever, but undeniably thin and weakened. He was also supporting himself on crutches, and Voldemort had heard him stutter. But he was alive, he was here, and Voldemort was going to fuck everything up. Shit!

"Don't make a scene, Quirinus. Go and sit down." His boyfriend tapped Quirrell's nose before purposely turning away from him. Quirrell glowered and reluctantly made his way over to the nearest table, still thankfully out of Voldemort's sight.

Voldemort attempted to keep his eyes on the newspaper, but his gaze would always flicker up to the back of Quirrell. Why was he wearing so many clothes? He must be burning up in this heat. God, Voldemort had missed him so much. Maybe if he just…

"Alright, here's your coffee…" The boyfriend was back, handing over Quirrell's drink, but the other man simply huffed. "Don't go all sulky on me. C'mon."

"You sn-snap at me for not b-buying anything, then d-dismiss me when I – I offer?"

"Oh, you _are_ sulky." The boyfriend smirked, taking a seat next to him, and pulling him in for a kiss.

Voldemort almost choked on the bite he'd just taken, and forced himself to look away, even though it'd been too late.

"St-stop iiit." Quirrell whined, attempting to push him, but he was beginning to giggle. And then they kissed again. And again. Voldemort felt like he was being punched in the face each time. Time to go. This whole thing had been a huge disaster. Who had he been kidding, thinking Quirrell had missed him and would be glad to see him?

"Such a shame your parents are finally out for the whole day on Wednesday, but I'm at work." Quirrell's boyfriend then said suggestively, "maybe I could get someone to do my shift and I could come over..."

Quirrell instantly shoved him back. "I t-told you, no. I'm not…d-doing that w-with you any t-time soon."

Voldemort saw the smile fall slightly, but the guy managed to compose himself. "Right. Yeah. And like I said, I'll wait, whatever. But anyway, something else is going on Wednesday next week, isn't it?"

"N-no."

"Come on, Quirinus…"

"I d-don't like b-birthdays."

"You're turning twenty four, this is good! And it deserves celebrating. So I'll pick you up at eight once I've finished work?"

Quirrell sighed. "I d-don't eat."

"Then maybe you should start." The boyfriend replied, as if it was the easiest thing. "Now, are you gonna drink that coffee?"

Something clicked in Voldemort's mind, and he dared himself to think it through. Quirrell would be alone all day on Wednesday? On his birthday of all days? Maybe this was Voldemort's chance to finally let him know that he was still around. That could totally count as a birthday surprise, seeing as Quirrell's birthday last year had been so shitty, plotting the revenge plan. He could do this. If he followed these two home…

"I have a present for you. Hey, now you're excited, right?"

Quirrell took his time. "I like p-presents." He began slowly. "I d-didn't get any last y-year."

Fuck, that stung. Voldemort had to get out of there, fast. He pulled his hood up, awkwardly standing from the table and making his way towards the door, keeping his head turned from Quirrell's table. Part of him actually wanted to be caught, just to see Quirrell's reaction, but the wiser part of him encouraged him to wait a few more days.

He successfully managed to escape unnoticed, and took a few moments to get his breath back and his head together. Jeez, that had been a shock. _Quirrell_…

If he just hung around until they left, he could see the general direction they were heading, and then he might go through with his dumbass plan. But not yet.

Wednesday. He'd wait until Wednesday.

**A.N. This really wasn't my best. I'd written practically all the following scenes already, just not the build-up. So bleh. **

**Please review (:**


	6. Chapter 6

**Super long chapter, but an important reunion. **

_Beep. Beep. Beep. _

_The steady sound continues, and Quirrell hears the sound of his shallow breathing. The room is white and serene, and there's nothing but him and the beeping noise. He's lying in some bed. It's comfortable. _

_Beep. Beep. The noise suddenly picks up hazardously and it's instantly loud and chaotic around him. He doesn't have time to get irritated at them for ruining the quiet, because hands are pressing against his chest, and the beeping continues. His eyes have closed without him even meaning them to. _

_"Quirinus, stay with us now. Stay with us."_

_The rough thumping on his chest hurts but he can't protest, because his mouth is covered with an oxygen mask. It's soon ripped off and then something else is being forced in his mouth. _

_"We're losing him."_

_He can hear his mother screaming. The doctors are talking quickly to one another, still thumping at his chest. His body jolts as electric shocks go through him, and then it happens again. Can they leave him alone now? Is his mother still here? _

_"Quirinus?"_

_Yes. He tries to say it but it's like there's no more air in his lungs. _

_"Hang on, okay? You'll be alright."_

_This doctor sounds nice. Quirrell hopes he'll get the kiss of life sometime soon. Is that what's happening? He's dying?_

_"There's still a heartbeat," A nurse comments. _

_"I know, but he's in a bad way. He might not be strong enough. Maybe we should just let him go."_

_No. Please. _

_"It might be the most humane thing to do." _

_Maybe it is. This way he can see Voldemort..._

_"You're right. It's time to let him go." _

_The beeping dims until it's just a constant drone. Just droning and droning and... _

Quirrell jolted awake, panting loudly and desperately running his hands over his arms and chest. No wires or drips attached to him. No failing heart. He was alive and today was his 24th birthday.

He cried for a little while, aimlessly staring up at the ceiling as he recalled his nightmare, not even sure of how much was true. He had been in hospital after Azkaban, for a number of weeks, and apparently he'd only just pulled through. But had doctors been keen to pull the plug on him so quickly? Bastards.

He managed to shake himself out of it, wiping his eyes as he grudgingly got up, but he couldn't bring himself to get changed out of his pyjamas as he shuffled over on his bandaged ankle to his closet. What did it matter, he wouldn't be leaving the house until later. Might as well be as lazy as he could until then. It was his birthday, after all.

Speaking of which, he hoped he had presents.

"S-sweaters, wow, thanks." He responded to his parents with what he hoped was a genuine-looking smile half an hour later. "I, uh, I n-needed 'em."

"There's more. Here's my present." Jamie handed him over a rectangular package and Quirrell's face instantly brightened.

"B-book?"

"Maybe."

"That's m-more like it..." He murmured as he ripped the paper off, before glancing up at his parents. "I l-love the sweaters."

Once the wrapping paper was off, Quirrell stared at the book in his hands. "Wow, it's..."

"Something other than romance. I'm introducing you to the genre of detective mysteries."

"Th-that's...lovely..." Quirrell attempted as his eyes scanned the back of the book. "Oh, a d-dead body f-found in an alleyway and a m-murderer at large. Gosh, th-thanks."

"You don't like it?"

"N-no, no, I'm sure it...it l-looks, uh, fun." Quirrell tried his best not to look disgusted. "A p-perfect start to a b-birthday."

"Alright, Quirinus, if you don't like it, just give it here so I can get my money back."

Quirrell noticed his mother give Jamie a not-so-discreet glare, and he felt almost grateful. So he got on her nerves too. "Nono, r-really. I appreciate it. Th-thanks."

"Then maybe respond with a little less sarcasm."

"Alright, give him a break." His mother retorted. "You know what he likes to read. And a story about a psychotic murderer really isn't exactly something that he would be into, with very good reason considering -"

"O-okay!" Quirrell interrupted before she said too much. "Th-thanks, everyone. N-not to sound rude, but - but when are you all l-leaving?"

"We were thinking about that." His father replied. "And we're cancelling."

Quirrell's face fell. "Wait -"

"We're postponing our trip out to tomorrow. Seeing as it's your birthday."

"Nah, c'mon, r-really. You d-don't have to..."

"Of course we do." His mother told him. "But we are going out for just an hour or two, to get some things for tonight. Then you have us all day."

"But I'm still at work until late." Jamie added, giving him a small kiss. "Sorry. But I promise I'm taking you out when I'm back."

"Th-that's okay..." Quirrell sighed, relieved he'd at least have a few hours by himself.

"Okay, I need to go, then." Jamie replied, standing from the couch. "Don't want to be late. Happy birthday, babe."

"Mmhm..." Quirrell hummed as he bundled up his presents. "Thanks e-everyone. So, see you all l-later."

"Give us a chance." His father huffed a small laugh, but did stand up to get his coat. "We'll be home in two hours, tops. Stay out of trouble."

Quirrell smiled back. "I'm d-doing nothing but watch c-crap TV. Trouble's g-gonna have to wait."

XxX

Alright, this was it. There was absolutely no backing out of this. Voldemort swallowed, his hood up just in case Quirrell really wasn't alone in the house – there was no car or anything in the driveway, but better safe than sorry - and took another few moments before knocking on the door.

There was no answer, which really didn't do Voldemort's nerves a favour, and he inhaled shakily before trying again. He then heard a noise from inside the house, and soon the door was shoved open to reveal Quirrell at long last, wearing oversized pyjamas and supporting himself on one of the crutches.

"Mm?" He asked bleakly. "C-can I help y-you?"

God. He still looked beautiful, but he was clearly going through some major struggles. All because of Voldemort. Okay, make or break time.

He took a deep breath before shoving the hood back and straightening up. "Hey, you."

There was the longest silence, and Quirrell didn't do anything for a moment, except look at him. His expression was still blank, which wasn't exactly promising, and then he turned to go back into the house.

"Hey, hold on! Where're you going?" Voldemort laughed nervously as he followed him indoors, closing the door behind him. "I know, I know it must be a total shock, but...Ow! Quirrell! Quit it!" Voldemort then yelped as Quirrell began whacking him with his crutch.

"You - bastard!"

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry, just -"

"M-months! Fucking months of th-thinking you were d-dead!" Quirrell yelled furiously, only stopping his attack when he was too out of breath to continue. He leant against the counter, panting uselessly. "And n-now you come to my d-door like nothing's wrong! Bastard!"

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry." Voldemort rubbed at his ribs, wincing. "I...Happy birthday."

Quirrell let out another frustrated yell, raising his crutch again, but Voldemort managed to dodge the blow. "Fuck - you!"

"I brought you a card." Voldemort attempted, ducking as Quirrell began throwing various kitchen items at him. "And - I wondered if you'd like to maybe, I dunno, go out to celebrate -" He dodged a plastic bowl before continuing. "Celebrate both your birthday and the fact I'm not actually dead -"

Quirrell suddenly stopped, like all the energy had been drained from him, and he covered his mouth, his shoulders shaking.

"What happened, man? With your ankle? Shouldn't you be sitting down?" Voldemort hesitantly made his way over, gently placing a hand on his shoulder. "Here, let me help you." He half-lifted Quirrell over to the armchair, sitting him down and kneeling in front of him. "There we go."

"Oh, I h-hate you..." Quirrell sobbed, covering his face.

"I'm sorry." Voldemort whispered. "Really, I feel awful. I didn't want to interfere in your life anymore, and here I am, screwing it up again."

"Mmhm." Was all Quirrell managed, before he viciously pinched himself, yelping afterwards.

"Hey, don't do that." Voldemort gently rubbed the afflicted area on Quirrell's arm. "It's real. I really am here. It's crazy, huh?"

"I - _I'm_ crazy."

"No you're not. But I heard you weren't doing too great, and...and I'm really sorry, and I know that doesn't make much difference, but I've missed you like hell and..."

"Don't! D-don't you _dare_! Do you - you have any idea - what you've d-done to me?" He slammed his hand against the arm of the chair, his voice rising. "I th-thought you were _dead_! It's b-been months, and you - you show up like you've j-just been on holiday?"

"It was only - I didn't want to ruin your life again -"

"Y-you couldn't have sc-screwed it up any more if you'd t-tried!" Quirrell yelled. "How c-could you leave me l-like that?"

Voldemort faltered. "Well, I didn't think -"

"You n-never think, that's y-your problem! You n-never, _ever_ c-consider other people!"

"No, Quirrell, I do! You were the reason why I did it, I wanted a new start for you!" Voldemort said desperately. Oh God, he'd fucked this up. "I'm so sorry, I really am. Look, I'll leave. I'll leave right now and I won't bother you again."

"No!" Quirrell gripped at Voldemort's shirt. "D-don't ever, ever leave me - again!" He broke down, roughly letting go of him, and covered his face. "N-never!"

Voldemort blinked in surprise. "But I...I thought...It was the right thing to..."

Quirrell practically screamed, and then slumped again, except this time it looked serious. Fuck, what had Voldemort done? "Hey, hey, look at me." He said hurriedly, prising Quirrell's hands away from his face. His eyes looked glassy and unfocused, and his breathing was coming out in short, shallow gasps. "Are you okay? Do you need - y'know, your medicine?"

"Can't -" He wheezed, and his eyes rolled slightly. "B-brea-"

_Shit_. "Okay, stop talking, and look at me. Breathe in, slowly. Count to four as you do it. Then out again. Can you do that?"

A short, shaky nod.

"Awesome. I'll do it with you. Through your nose, then out through your mouth. Just like that, yeah, good man. I used to know this kid when I was in school who panicked a lot, and I saw people calm him down like this. Does this work for you?"

Another nod, and Quirrell seemed to be breathing better. Still gasping a little, but definitely better. "Awesome, you're doing great. Keep going."

"Th-there's - C-calming-" Quirrell wheezed, feebly gesturing to the kitchen. "D-draught - to - help."

"Oh, there is? Yeah, I'm on it. You okay to carry on with your breathing?"

"Y-yeah - think so."

Voldemort nodded, scrambling to his feet and making his way to the kitchen. He found the vial within a few seconds, and hurried back to Quirrell as he opened it. "Alright. Hey, you're doing great."

Quirrell breathed in slowly before replying. "I'm - used to it."

Voldemort swallowed before nodding. "So I heard."

"Y-you - have a lot of - ex-explaining to do."

"I know. And I will. Over a drink? I meant what I said about taking you out."

Quirrell managed a small laugh. "I h-hate your fucking g-guts. I n-need to get d-dressed."

"That's alright. I'll wait."

"F-for me to c-come round, or putting on c-clothes?" Clearly the Calming Draught was having an effect, because Quirrell's body was no longer as tense, and he could talk without strained breathing.

"Both. Hopefully." Voldemort admitted. "Listen, I'm not asking you to forgive me right away. I know I have a lot of explaining and making up to do. So at least...let me start with this drink thing."

Quirrell struggled up, picking the crutch up from the floor. "J-just so you know, my p-parents will be b-back here in an hour or - or so."

Shit. What had happened to those guys leaving Quirrell alone for the whole day? That's what the boyfriend had said. "Oh. Uh, sure. We'll figure something out."

Quirrell shrugged. "G-give me five minutes."

XxX

This drink idea was actually turning out to be one of the most awkward things Voldemort had ever done, minus the whole back of the head thing. Because Quirrell hadn't said a word since they'd arrived. He was sulking, and it was working, because Voldemort kind of wanted to cry.

"They have whiskey. Not the good stuff, not Firewhiskey, but still not..." Voldemort trailed off as Quirrell narrowed his eyes at him, his arms folded tightly across his chest. "Alright, maybe not." He murmured, hastily looking back at his menu. "Well, you pick something. It's your birthday."

Quirrell just huffed and didn't respond. Voldemort wondered how much longer the silent treatment would last. Knowing Quirrell, probably not that much longer.

"Okay, guess not. Oh! How about one of these champagne bottles, go a little crazy."

"Oh, sure." Quirrell finally replied icily. "I'm p-paying, right?"

"Uh." Voldemort coughed a little. "Well, no, that'd be dumb. I'm thinking more of a loan, y'know, until I get some muggle money. 'Cause can you imagine me paying in galleons or whatever in this town? They'd think I was crazy, right?" He laughed, trying to look away from the intensity of Quirrell's glare.

The young man started to laugh too, except in an extremely mocking way. "Y-you're a funny guy, huh?"

"Um..."

"F-fucking hilarious, in - in fact."

"Now, Quirrell - whoa, okay, I'm sorry!" He added hastily as Quirrell reached down to lift one of his crutches from the floor. "Look, I get why you're mad at me, I totally do. But can't you see how desperate I am to try and make things right?"

"Y-you want me to b-buy champagne for my own b-birthday!"

"It was only a suggestion! Just to make you talk to me!" He raised his hands in defence. "Hey, it worked!"

"D-don't bother." Quirrell shakily stood, clutching the table for support. "Jamie's already b-bought champagne. W-with his own m-money."

Voldemort scowled. "What an asshole."

"Y-yeah, the nerve! Buying me st-stuff on my b-birthday!" Quirrell shook his head, before blushing. "And I'm on - on anti-depressants, you idiot. I'm n-not really allowed to d-drink."

Again, Voldemort probably would've felt better if Quirrell just punched him in the face. "Oh, I...I'm sorry, man, why didn't you say?" He managed pathetically. "Doesn't have to be alcohol. Hell, it's early in the day, it's not really time for booze anyway..."

"Y-yeah. 'Hi, n-nice to see you a-again. I need to t-take drugs every day to k-keep myself vaguely s-sane now, how've you b-been?'" Quirrell scoffed, before gesturing. "Can you p-pass me my..."

Voldemort sighed, bending down to pass Quirrell up his crutches. "Please, man. Please can we just talk properly? I'm as poor as fuck. Believe me, if I had muggle money I'd buy you all sorts. Anything you want! We could go anywhere."

"We?" Quirrell repeated quietly.

"Yeah, man. You and me. Where'd you wanna go, the two of us?"

"Um..." Quirrell's blush deepened and he faltered. "I ac-actually...I have a h-house."

"You do?"

"Y-yeah, but...muggle one. It's really p-pretty, though."

Voldemort grinned, and helped him sit again when it became clear Quirrell wasn't going anywhere. "I bet it is."

"I w-wanted to go th-there, but..." He hesitated, awkwardly twisting his fingers. "I'm - not well enough. To - to live alone. So I'm st-stuck here." He bit his lip. "That's w-where we'd go."

"Hey, sounds awesome to me." Voldemort replied truthfully. "Maybe one day, huh?"

Quirrell looked at him and shook his head. "Th-things are different, V-Voldemort. B-between us two."

"That's..."

"I'm...I'm really s-sick. I can't eat, y'know? Or - or sleep. Or do any-anything really." He gestured helplessly. "I'm not the s-same."

"Bullshit. I mean, yeah, I get you're not well, but you're still you." Voldemort replied eagerly, taking one of Quirrell's hands. "The same Quirrell who's my best friend. We...We are still friends, right?"

Quirrell swallowed. "I d-don't...You hurt me. A - a lot."

"I'll make it all up to you. I mean it. And I really am so, so sorry."

"Y-yeah, you keep s-saying that, but it's not undoing e-everything that's happened." Quirrell retorted quietly. "I'm sure y-you are sorry. But I'm a f-fucking mess."

"Well, I...I wouldn't call you a mess..."'

"No?" Quirrell challenged. "T-take a good look. I-I'm ruined. No job, no h-house of my own, I c-can't even use a k-kitchen knife without asking my d-damn parents for it, my wand's b-been taken off me, and I have n-nightmares every fucking n-night despite taking a ton of d-drugs."

Voldemort swallowed, awkwardly shifting in his seat. "Oh, Quirrell..."

"And I st-stopped taking 'em. The antidepressants." Quirrell continued, "Ended up w-with me b-barricading myself indoors for hours. I'm b-broken either way, on m-meds or not." He reached down for his crutches again. "I'm g-going home, and you - you should do the same. It's f-for the best."

"Don't say that." Voldemort said hurriedly, his voice catching slightly. "You don't mean that, Quirrell. Besides, I - I don't really have a home."

"Th-that's not my problem."

"Why're you being so cold?"

"'C-cause I have to - to be." Quirrell replied. "Az-Azkaban makes you that w-way. And I th-thought you were dead for - for so long now. No wonder I've t-toughened up."

"Quirrell, please. Please give me a chance to sort stuff out. I know I've made a huge mess of this, believe me, but..." No. He couldn't leave. Not again. "Quirrell, I've missed you like crazy. It was damn near killing me."

Quirrell stood up, but looked at him for a moment. "My p-parents are out all - all day tomorrow. And J-Jamie's at work. Come o-over to the house."

Voldemort blinked back at him, unable to believe it. "Really?"

"Y-yeah. You can shower, and t-take some c-clothes or whatever. We'll h-have the whole day."

"Squirrel, you're really - you're the absolute best." Voldemort grinned widely, standing up too. "Hey, we can talk properly there, right? And I'll bring you stuff! Like...like, I don't know, what do you want?"

Quirrell managed a tiny smile. "J-just bring yourself. Th-that's what I w-want."

"Consider it done." Voldemort replied, making a mental note to pick up some flowers or something on the way. Or would that be too over the top? Whatever, he didn't care. "So, uh, what time?"

"9 AM. Now I'm g-gonna get out of h-here before I change my m-mind or wake up." Quirrell said, already awkwardly moving from the table.

"You're awake, Quirrell." Voldemort told him. "And tomorrow's gonna prove it."

Quirrell shrugged in a way that told Voldemort he'd dreamed about something like this a lot, which only made him feel a small sting in his stomach. "O-okay, then. You b-better show up."

XxX

Second time lucky, or at least Voldemort hoped so. This time he was determined to make things right. He'd even picked up flowers on the way, she admittedly probably was way too over the top, but this was Quirrell. He loved all that. And it would hopefully soften him up so he wouldn't yell too much at him again.

There was a scuffle and then the sound of the door unlocking. Quirrell soon hesitantly looked out, and then grinned, and it was like seeing the damn sun. He was actually happy to see Voldemort this time?

"It's r-real! I d-didn't dream it or - or make it up again!" Quirrell beamed, before eagerly tugging Voldemort inside. "E-everyone's gone. It's j-just us. Are those f-flowers?"

"Hey, Quirrell." Voldemort breathed, unable to stop grinning himself, even though he felt a sting at Quirrell's words. Again? He'd been thinking of Voldemort for all this time? "Oh, um, yeah. I got 'em for you."

"D-did you pick 'em f-from Mrs. Jones down the st-street?"

"Uh…" Voldemort cleared his throat. "I don't know, it was…a garden…"

"These are her d-daffodils."

"Oh." Voldemort awkwardly rubbed the back of his neck. "Um, sorry. Figures you'd be able to tell something like that."

Quirrell then laughed and took the flowers from Voldemort's hand. "Y'know, d-daffodils are my f-favourite. Thank you. The g-gesture is lovely."

Voldemort grinned in relief as Quirrell placed them in the empty vase on the coffee table. "No problem. So…You look...really nice. Better than yesterday. Not that you looked bad yesterday, duh, but -"

"Th-thanks. I t-took a shower and get d-dressed and everything!"

Voldemort laughed, until he realised Quirrell was totally serious and genuinely proud of himself, and he immediately stopped. "Oh, sorry, I -"

"Y-yeah, when I say it l-like that it sounds so p-pathetic, doesn't - doesn't it?" Quirrell responded quietly, and Voldemort could've killed himself for ruining Quirrell's good mood in a matter of seconds.

"No, man, not at all. I'm sorry. I really am. And you do look lovely."

"It - it's the small victories." Quirrell continued. "I m-managed to eat this m-morning too. Is that f-funny?"

"Oh, Squirrel, I'm sorry. Hey, come here." Voldemort carefully approached him and slowly opened his arms. "We didn't get to do a clichéd reunion hug yesterday, did we?"

"N-not really..." Quirrell replied slowly, looking a little nervous, "You - you want to hug me?"

"Yeah. If it's cool with you."

"The D-dark Lord wants to h-hug me."

"I'm not a Dark Lord anymore, remember? So this is absolutely fine. Unless you don't want to."

"N-no, wait, I -" Quirrell began as Voldemort lowered his arms. "I do want. P-please."

Voldemort laughed slightly. "Alright, come over here. If you even can with that ankle of yours."

"It's b-basically healed. The b-bandage is coming off in two d-days." Quirrell replied before biting his lip and nodding, hesitantly taking a few steps forward. And then Voldemort's arms were wrapped around him and it was the nicest and safest feeling in the world. He slowly brought his own arms around Voldemort and held him as tight as he could, ultimately burying his face in his neck.

Voldemort breathed out slowly, closing his eyes. "You good? Do you still hate me?"

"Y-yes." Quirrell replied as he squeezed him tight. "So much."

Voldemort managed a smile. "Not even warming a little bit?"

"N-nope." Quirrell's hands were now in Voldemort's hair, which felt really good for some reason. "Not - one b-bit."

"That's a shame. I'm hoping it'll be a little better when we talk things over." Voldemort breathed back as he moved a hand to Quirrell's neck. "I've missed you so much, Squirrel."

"D-don't." Quirrell's voice cracked a little as he reluctantly drew back. "Don't."

"It's true though."

Quirrell bit his lip fiercely again. "O-okay, sit." He gestured to the couch. "You go f-first. Where the f-fuck have you been and how're y-you even here? All your H-Horcrux's are gone!"

Voldemort swallowed as he took a seat, shrugging feebly. "Dude, I don't know either. I mean, I should be dead. Potter killed me at Hogwarts. It hurt like a bitch, but...but then I woke up."

"You j-just 'woke up'?"

"It hurt so bad. I couldn't move for ages. I hallucinated a little bit before -"

"P-poor baby." Quirrell pouted, and Voldemort rubbed his cheek, already knowing what was coming, but still feeling his heart fall. "You w-wanna talk hallucinations?"

"No. I mean, I'm aware that things have undoubtedly been way worse for you. I'm just giving you my side of the story." He replied, trying not to sound grouchy. He then raised his hands in surrender. "Sorry. But honestly, the short of it is that I woke up. I don't know how. I hallucinated you, actually."

Quirrell's expression changed, and he sat down in the armchair. "F-funny, I hallucinated you too. E-every day."

Voldemort looked at him, unsure how to respond. "You...You did?"

"Yeah, b-being double-crossed did a n-number on my m-mental health, but then again, being s-surrounded by dementors d-didn't help either."

"I got you out." Voldemort blurted. "When I woke up. I knew I had to help you, so I made it obvious you were innocent, and then I -"

Quirrell began to laugh. "Oh. So th-that's what did it." He tilted his head as he observed him. "Well, thanks! I mean, if you h-hadn't put me th-there in the first -"

"Please!" Voldemort stood up desperately. "You wanted me to talk, and I'm talking! I'm trying to explain, and you're the one who's not even listening, so why don't you -" He cut himself off abruptly at the terrified expression on Quirrell's face, and immediately took a step back. "Sorry. Sorry, Quirrell, I'm sorry. I didn't mean to snap like that, I swear. You're right to talk to me like that."

"I - I think you should g-get out of my house now." Quirrell whispered, shakily getting to his feet.

"I got out of Hogwarts, I made them see you were innocent," Voldemort backtracked, sitting himself down again and gesturing for Quirrell to do the same. "And I swear, you were my primary thought in all this, man. I figured if I got you out, you could carry on with -"

"W-would you like some w-water?" Quirrell asked suddenly.

"Uh." Voldemort blinked. "If it's not too much trouble. I mean, I can get it."

Quirrell was already up again, making his way to the kitchen. He returned soon with a glass of water for Voldemort and a bottle of beer for himself.

"Hey, you didn't offer beer." Voldemort laughed a little, before frowning. "Uh, dude, what did you say about...y'know, not drinking with your pills..."

"Y-you sound like my b-boyfriend Jamie." Quirrell snapped as he handed him his glass, before returning to his armchair.

"Ugh, never say that again." Voldemort muttered, which rewarded him a little giggle from the other man. And damn it sounded adorable. "Right. Well, if you think it's okay, I'm hardly gonna tell you not to drink it. Just one can't hurt, right?"

"It'll get me th-through this conversation." Came the reply, as Quirrell took a swig from the bottle. "So I d-don't break down or any-anything embarrassing. Okay, c-carry on."

"Uh." Voldemort nodded hesitantly. "Right. So as I was saying, I didn't want to interfere in your life. I'd already done enough damage. And I was gonna stay away, but...but I missed you. I needed to see how you were. So, I..." He grimaced. "Oh, this sounds awful..."

"Ah, go on."

"Well, I started travelling around all these Wizarding villages and towns in case you were staying in 'em -"

"Oh!" Quirrell began to laugh again. "Th-that was you! That's so - so weird, 'cause I was w-wondering what...It was in the P-prophet. Not that I read that c-crap anymore, my Mom d-does...Wow."

Voldemort grinned sheepishly. "But you were a no-show, obviously. Kinda to be expected. So I didn't know how else to find you so I...I..." He dropped his head and murmured to his chest. "_Lookedthroughyourdreamsalittlebit_."

There was the longest silence, and then Quirrell hummed a little. "Oh?"

"When I say your dreams, I mean...It was a way to see where you were living...I wasn't, like, rooting through your head or..."

"No? S-sounds like it." Quirrell replied mock-innocently.

"Really, it wasn't..." Voldemort attempted. "I'm sorry. I'm really sorry. But it brought me to this village, and then I...bumped into your boyfriend..."

Quirrell's eyes widened, clearly too surprised to be pissed for now. "Hooold up. You m-met Jamie?"

Even the name pissed Voldemort off. "Yeah. Total coincidence, I just bumped into him and I was gonna ask about you but then his phone rang and...Uh, well, you were found. Kind of."

Quirrell cringed in embarrassment. "F-fuck! Oh no, what -"

"It's okay. It was nothing bad or anything. Even if it had been it's not like it mattered. I just wanted to see you."

"J-Jamie never even m-mentioned..."

"No, I told him not to." Voldemort admitted sheepishly. "So I hung around a little bit, and then I saw you two in the cafe the other day and, uh, overheard you'd be alone all day on your birthday, and thought, hey. That's not fair. So I showed up."

Quirrell observed him through slightly narrowed eyes. "Damn."

"Yeah. It's a really pathetic and dumb story, but that's basically it. So, that's enough about me." Voldemort finished awkwardly, scratching his cheek. "I want to talk about you. And how you've been. How you ended up here."

Quirrell shrugged. "It's...I c-can't remember all of - of it. It's sorta a b-blur. I mean, w-when I was released, I was st-stuck on the island, and I had to D-Disapparated somewhere. So I c-came back h-here, where I grew up. I kn-knew my parents could h-help me."

"And...what happened?"

"I j-just hammered on the d-door 'til they opened it. I was in a b-bad way. Apparently I c-couldn't really t-talk, I was just crying. They t-took me to hospital so I c-could get checked over. I th-think I was there a few w-weeks. I was m-malnourished and stuff. There w-were all these wires in - in me." He gestured weakly.

Voldemort swallowed, nodding stiffly. "Yeah."

"They h-hurt. It was so...so unreal, though. I was so sick that I c-can't really remember p-properly. It d-doesn't seem real, but then a lot of- of things don't. Apparently they n-nearly lost me, but I d-dunno. They m-might just -"

"Stop, Quirrell, please." Voldemort gasped out, covering his mouth. "Just - for a minute."

Quirrell looked at him in bewilderment. "Are you f-feeling sick?"

"Sorry, sorry, oh God." Voldemort hastily took a sip of the water. "I'm so sorry. How did - I mean, when you got back from the hospital, was it better?"

"Um..." Quirrell shrugged again. "Well, I was d-diagnosed with severe depression and an-anxiety, so..."

"But, I mean - after." Voldemort practically wheezed. "Your boyfriend! Right?"

"J-Jamie? He's nice. But s-sometimes he..." He faltered. "Well, sometimes he's a j-jerk. Kinda c-controlling."

Voldemort didn't like the sound of that. "What? Controlling?"

"N-nothing serious or anything. I j-just don't really kn-know where I stand with him. He t-treats me like I'm the g-greatest one minute, and th-then..." Quirrell trailed off. "I irritate him. It's the s-same for everyone, th-though. I'm too m-much work."

Voldemort clenched his free fist. "He's said that to you?"

"S-sometimes. But it's t-true."

"No one should say that. As if - he's talking like dating you is a chore. And it's not, it's a privilege." Voldemort snapped. "Why are you with him?"

Quirrell blinked at him in bewilderment. "I...Like him? He's s-safe. I f-feel safer with him."

"Safe?" Voldemort echoed, scoffing slightly. "Alright. Fair enough."

"Yeah, safe. He p-protects me. He drove me to h-hospital for this an-ankle." Quirrell gestured. "It was so d-dumb, I tripped over a b-book, of all things…"

"Probably 'cause your room is a mess." Voldemort said before he could stop himself, and they looked at each other for a moment, before Quirrell grinned.

"Hey, top m-marks, man. Yeah. But it's all c-clean now."

"No way."

"Uh-huh."

"I don't buy it." Voldemort replied with a smile. "So, you've been here since your release?"

Quirrell nodded. "A-against my will. I t-tried for jobs, but I d-didn't get any, and now I've g-given up. No motivation. N-nothing. Not even my – my wand." At that, his eyes brightened. "You h-have yours?"

"My wand? Yeah." Voldemort tugged it out from his waistband, handing it over. "Been my only way of getting food and whatever."

Quirrell held it carefully, a wide grin on his face, before he frowned. "Yeah, wh-what're you doing for money and st-stuff?"

"Meh." Voldemort shrugged, not exactly wanting to tell Quirrell about him having to use the Imperious Curse a lot. "I'm getting by."

Quirrell put the wand down, getting to his feet. "Okay, g-gimme a minute." He told him, before going back to the kitchen and rummaging around for something. He returned shortly, presenting Voldemort with a credit card. "I'm l-lending you this."

"Please tell me this isn't yours, Quirrell." Voldemort replied sternly. "I told you. I'm getting by."

"It's f-fine. They never let me p-pay for anything any-anyway. You can b-borrow it, on one condition." Quirrell took a deep breath. "You k-keep visiting me. We still k-keep in touch."

"That's not a condition. That's an honour." Voldemort replied truthfully. "I was planning on it."

"You p-promise? 'Cause there's always the ch-chance you'll run off with my b-bank card."

"I promise."

"You p-promise a lot of things."

Oh, that hurt. Voldemort swallowed before nodding. "And I still intend to carry them out. Once that ankle's healed, we'll go rollerblading."

"You – you actually remembered." Quirrell laughed slightly. "I c-can't be dreaming. This is too n-nice for it to be a d-dream. And the d-dementors couldn't have known a-about that."

Voldemort paused. "Whoa, slow down. What?"

"The – the dementors." Quirrell repeated. "They g-gave me so many fake m-memories, just to suck 'em out of - of me hours later." He then glanced around. "P-people say they're nowhere n-near me now. But how c-can I be sure after th-that, huh? How?"

Voldemort shook his head weakly. "Quirrell…" He then looked at the credit card. "I can't accept this."

"Y-yes you can. There's a hotel n-nearby. You can use th-this, stay there, and c-come visit me." Quirrell smiled expectantly. "I'm h-here by myself a lot of the t-time. We can st-start over."

"Easy as that?"

"No. I'm st-still pretty pissed. But I've been p-pining for months, and now y-you're here, I don't want you to l-leave me again. Not again, p-please."

Voldemort shook his head as he reluctantly took the card from Quirrell's hand. "Never. I swear to you, I'll never leave again."

Quirrell nodded. "G-good. Go take a sh-shower, the bathroom's up-upstairs. I'm not g-going anywhere."


	7. Chapter 7

"Hey, man, you got a hairdryer?" Voldemort appeared in the living room doorway with a towel wrapped around his waist, his hair damp and tousled, and Quirrell stared at him blankly for the longest time, feeling himself heat up.

"Hmm? A what?" He eventually managed, taking a swig from a new bottle of beer.

"Hairdryer. We got 'em in the Wizarding World too, y'know, I'm not a total loser." Voldemort raised both eyebrows. "So d'you have one? 'Cause God only knows what'll happen to my hair if I don't slick it back like usual."

"S'nice like th-that…" Quirrell mumbled, gesturing to how tousled it was.

Voldemort then frowned, and looked at the bottle in Quirrell's hands. "Is that your second? I thought you couldn't drink a lot with your pills. You said you'd only have one, dude."

"St-stop it." Quirrell blushed fiercely. "I d-don't need lectures f-from you."

Voldemort hesitated, before shaking his head. "I'm not lecturing. I swear. Hairdryer?"

"Y-yeah. In my bedroom."

"I don't know where that is, Squirrel." Voldemort pointed out with a small grin.

"I – I can show you, and get you s-some clothes…" Quirrell coughed as he moved past him, trying not to look at Voldemort's bare chest. Which was really hard, all things considered. "Some c-clothes that'll probably be either too t-tight or too big. My - my wardrobe isn't ex-exactly great."

"Nono, man, I've already got your damn bank card, I don't want to rob you of your clothes too."

"Y-you're not. All I have are s-sweaters." Quirrell rolled his eyes as he shoved his bedroom door open, and Voldemort looked around, giving a low whistle.

"Wow, no kidding. The boyfriend really did clean this place. Weird."

"H-healthy mind begins w-with organisation." Quirrell sighed. "Apparently. Here's' the h-hairdryer, and t-take a look through my closet. You w-won't find much of decent v-value, but hey."

Voldemort sighed a little, clearly still unsure, before grudgingly opening the closet and taking a look. "Is…Hey, is this your old Hogwarts school uniform?"

"I was g-gonna burn it once I graduated, but my Mom w-wanted to keep it for – for 'sentimental reasons'." Quirrell scowled. "What a j-joke."

"And your old wizard robes too, wow…"

"J-jeans are way more p-practical, huh?" Quirrell snorted, lying down on his bed. "Ex-except the majority of p-people in this village are o-over forty and only wear c-corduroy stuff. No w-wonder I fucking drink so m-much. This place, I s-swear…"

Voldemort stopped rummaging around and turned to face him. "So, you admit it, huh? You drink more than you should."

"Duh."

"And you know it makes everything worse in the long run?"

"V-Voldemort, no offence, but y-you've been away a long t-time. You d-don't know what my life is – is like."

"Well, no, I…But I'll find out soon, won't I?" He replied, scratching his jaw. "So, the booze. Do your parents know?"

"They h-hardly ever drink. This st-stuff just lies in the cellar. I can t-take as much as I w-want. And I'm twenty-fucking-four, as of y-yesterday. I can do w-whatever I damn want." Quirrell propped himself up. "Y-you're as bad as everyone else. M-maybe worse."

"I'm not trying to be. I'm just…Just worried, that's all." Voldemort said meekly, taking a couple of t-shirts from the closet, and then some sweatpants. "Look, I get it, when you drink it's an escape. Right? It's worth the after pain, 'cause you feel so relaxed during. But you gotta understand how easy it is to get stuck."

"Hold on a sec, l-lemme cancel all my f-future therapist appointments, this is g-gold."

"Damn, you're a sarcastic little shit." Voldemort huffed a small laugh. "I'd practically forgotten this side of you."

"And you h-hate what you s-see, huh?" Quirrell challenged.

"No. Not at all. I'm just so happy to see you." Voldemort replied smoothly. "I'm gonna get changed now, if that's alright."

"I'll be d-downstairs." Quirrell retorted, getting up from the bed and leaving the room. Once he was back in the living room, he picked up Voldemort's wand again, and bit his lip in excitement before he began to conjure up some flowers to go with the daffodils. He hadn't done this in so long. Way too long.

He enjoying himself so much that he didn't hear Voldemort come back downstairs, only noticing when the man tapped his shoulder, causing him to yelp. "Fuck! D-don't do that! Fragile h-heart…" He breathed out slowly, giving Voldemort's wand a twirl. "This is so g-great."

"Yeah…" Voldemort replied with a raised eyebrow at all the new flowers that decorated the coffee table. "Glad you're putting it to good use…"

"I f-figured you wouldn't m-mind." Quirrell said. "I h-haven't seen my own wand in f-forever, and normal flowers d-die so easily. These'll last way l-longer."

"So they took your wand? Why?"

"'C-cause I'm psychologically d-disturbed." Quirrell rolled his eyes. "They th-think I'll kill myself w-with it. I only want to p-plant flowers."

Voldemort swallowed and bit his lip. "So, it…it's never crossed your mind, then?" Well that was a relief.

Quirrell glanced at him and then shrugged. Voldemort was suddenly aware of the wand still in his hand, and hastily took it back, his heart racing for no real reason. "Shit, Quirrell."

"That's why I –I'm in therapy, it's not my f-fault."

"Nono, of course it's not, I know that." _It's mine. _

"It's D-dementors. Isolation. B-being double-crossed." Quirrell listed. "T-torture. Prison. I c-could go on, but I d-don't think I need to."

"Then – maybe they were right to take your wand." Voldemort began hesitantly, which caused Quirrell to narrow his eyes.

"Oh y-yeah?"

"Yeah. I mean, in…theory…" Voldemort coughed. "Just until those thoughts go away or…"

Quirrell clicked his fingers. "G-gone. Can I h-have the wand back n-now?"

"Don't joke like that. I know I deserve it, but honestly, don't joke about your own well-being like that."

Quirrell flinched slightly. "Who are you, my m-mother?"

"Your friend, if you'll still let me be. If you actually talk to me, and not cover everything up with sarcasm and insults. I really do want to help, Quirrell!" Voldemort protested as he pocketed the wand.

"Y-you're an asshole." Quirrell muttered. "I h-hate you for l-leaving me there."

Voldemort rubbed his forehead. This wasn't going to work. Quirrell still openly despised him, which was perfectly acceptable, but still hurt. "I'm sorry. I never wanted to."

"Th-then why?"

Voldemort shrugged feebly. "Because I'm an idiot who had a totally unrealistic and stupid goal for world domination? I messed up. But I don't know how, or why, but I'm still alive and I promise you that I'm gonna stay this time."

"O-okay." Quirrell shrugged tiredly. His eyes then lit up. "Let's go on – on a walk!"

"Um." Voldemort managed, a little taken aback by Quirrell's constantly changing mood. "Yeah, okay, that sounds nice. But what about…"

"P-parents are out on a d-day trip, and J-Jamie's working all o-over the place. Please? C-can we? It'll be f-fun." Quirrell eagerly stood up, testing his ankle. "I'll o-only need one c-crutch, probably. C-can't wait 'til this d-dumb bandage is off."

"Whoa, man, slooow." Voldemort laughed. "There's no rush. I'm not going anywhere."

Quirrell shrugged again. "Not t-taking any chances. G-gotta make the m-most of this."

"Quirrell. Really, I'm not just gonna vanish."

"It w-won't be your fault, I – I know. It's the d-dementors. I'm sorry. They c-can take everything a-away, and I want to – to do fun things b-before that…" He trailed off, and Voldemort carefully placed his hands on Quirrell's shoulders, squeezing them comfortingly.

"Hey. Look at me. No more dementors."

"N-no, you don't -"

"I'm serious. They're not here. You're safe. Look, let's walk around outside, it might help you to see things a little clearer, I don't know. But I'm right by you, okay?"

Quirrell hesitated, before grabbing him in a tight hug again. "Sorry for y-yelling a lot. It's j-just, if you're _not _r-real, I g-gotta live like you – you _are_ and enjoy my-myself. Y-you – feel real."

"That's 'cause I am, Squirrel." Voldemort managed, his throat tight as he held him. "Everything's real. What do – I mean, what do you normally do when you feel like this?"

"Uh…" Quirrell tried to think. "I – p-pinch myself. I try to t-talk to people. J-just…sometimes helps, k-kinda."

"Okay, well let's rule out pinching for now." Voldemort breathed as he continued to gently hold him. "Talk to me. Anything you want."

"Uh…" He repeated. "O-okay. Who's my f-favourite author?"

"You're quizzing me? Fair enough. Jane Austen."

"Oh my God," Quirrell laughed. "Y-yeah! You remembered!"

"It's engraved in my brain, dude. You really love that chick." Voldemort grinned back, relieved to feel Quirrell relaxing in his arms.

"I – I do! But Jamie d-doesn't care. J-just, like – he got me a d-detective story for my b-birthday. But I h-hate that kinda thing."

"Weird." Voldemort replied softly, just revelling in the feel of Quirrell with him after so long. "You'd think he'd buy you something you actually enjoy. How was your birthday, anyway?"

"I was t-totally out of it, 'c-cause all I could think about was you. It was b-boring anyway. And J-Jamie was ex-expecting sex later, which k-kinda dampened the mood." Quirrell stated simply, and Voldemort felt himself instantly blush, which was really dumb.

"I, uh – oh, he – but you didn't?"

"D-duh." Quirrell snorted. "But - but he's getting impatient. So, s-soon, probably, I d-dunno."

Voldemort cleared his throat, pulling back to look at him again. "But you've never – I mean, you've never had sex before, right? So…You're big on romance. You can wait until you're just – absolutely sure that he's your guy, y'know?"

"I c-can wait, yeah. It's h-him I'm not so sure a-about." Quirrell shrugged. "Life isn't a romance n-novel."

"No, I guess not. But still. Don't rush into anything, yeah? You gotta be the main priority in…all of this." Voldemort attempted. "So. How about that walk?"

XxX

"Oh, th-this is the bar I went to on my – my 21st b-birthday, which is the same d-day I got offered the M-muggle Studies job." Quirrell pointed out a building which looked identical from all the other ones. He'd been giving Voldemort a tour of sorts, and seemed pretty energetic and happy, which was already making Voldemort's entire day.

"Nice."

"It – it was, actually. My f-friends hired me a st-stripper and everything."

Voldemort laughed. "Get outta here!"

"I'm s-serious. I was too d-drunk to really enjoy it, th-though. I mean, I _enjoyed _it, b-but the details are f-fuzzy."

"What great friends."

"Y-yeah." Quirrell's smile fell a little. "They w-were."

"I guess they're not around anymore, huh?"

"Not h-here. All moved on. S-successful jobs, n-nice houses, families. You n-name it." Quirrell gestured with his free hand. "I f-figured I'd be the same. I was so – so excited the last time I was in th-that bar. 'C-cause I was young, and c-cute, and had just got a new j-job in the greatest Wizarding S-school there is."

"You're still young and cute, and fuck Hogwarts." Voldemort replied before he could stop himself. "They treated you terribly there."

"_You _t-treated me terribly there."

Voldemort blushed. "Okay, yes, I did, you're right. At first. To keep up the – stupid Dark Lord image, and I'm sorry. But the staff were meant to help you and – they didn't, they were just –"

"I kn-know. I don't c-care anymore. Hogwarts is the – the _least_ of my c-concerns." Quirrell replied. "B-besides, aren't all the good p-professors dead? I h-heard Dumbledore got m-murdered by Snape, of all p-people!"

Voldemort didn't really know where to begin or if it was worth explaining. "Yeah, well…"

"I'm t-totally far behind on e-everything, huh? Can you t-tell me? My p-parents refuse to in case it t-triggers something."

"Then they're probably right, to be honest." Voldemort admitted. "This walk is meant to make you feel better."

"It –it is, don't get me wrong. I'm j-just curious. So, what's the d-deal?" Quirrell replied, and Voldemort knew he wouldn't let it go.

"It's true, Dumbledore and Snape are both dead. So's Fudge."

"I knew th-that already. I f-found out in Az-Azkaban." Quirrell told him. "So you k-kill the Minister but d-don't tell him I'm innocent f-first, huh?"

Voldemort swallowed. "It never occurred to me, if I'm being honest. I'm sorry."

"Y-yeah, whatever." Quirrell dismissed half-heartedly. "No – no use whining about it now."

"You're not whining, you're making a good point." Voldemort rubbed his jaw feebly. "It honestly didn't…I mean, the dude didn't even believe I was _back_ until his last seconds. I don't think he would've helped you anyway."

"P-probably not." Quirrell admitted with a small sigh, and then he yawned. "I -I'm so sorry, but I'm ex-exhausted."

"Hey, man, no problem. I get it." Voldemort replied instantly. "Let's head back."

"B-but we've only been out f-for…" He glanced at his watch. "Not e-even thirty m-minutes!"

"Quirrell, it's fine. You need rest anyway."

"But then – then when will I see y-you?" He asked, fear creeping into his voice. "Y-you'll go."

"I'll go to that hotel you recommended. Are your folks out tomorrow?"

"P-probably, I don't know yet. D-d'you have a phone?"

"Huh?" Voldemort had to ask. "Oh, like a cell phone, right. Uh, no."

"O-okay, first thing's f-first, let's buy you a phone. Then I c-can keep in touch b-better and let you know when it's o-okay for you to come over."

"Dude, you're already giving me so much. Don't spend all this money. Won't it look really suspicious anyway? All this money suddenly gone from your bank account?" Voldemort told him, a little concerned.

"I'll d-deal, alright? It's f-fine. J-Just, come on, b-before I fall asleep." Quirrell tugged at his arm. "I'll b-buy you a crappy one any-anyway. You're not worth the – the ones with a t-touch screen."

"Thanks, man." Voldemort snorted, "You know just what to say to a guy."

"I'm t-taken. I d-don't need to say n-nice things to handsome dudes anymore." He then blushed fiercely, and stopped tugging his arm. "Uh. W-whatever. Phone."

Voldemort cleared his throat to stop his smile at that, and to ignore the warm, fuzzy feeling he was suddenly getting. "Phone." He confirmed.

XxX

"And how are you feeling today, Quirinus? I've heard that you seem a little brighter over these few weeks." Quirrell's therapist laced her fingers and smiled at him expectantly.

"I'm d-doing okay, yeah." He admitted. Ever since Voldemort had showed up, it was like some sort of switch had been flicked in his head. He suddenly had a purpose again, at least a little. Not that he was cured, by any means, not yet. But it was something. "S-sometimes I feel a bit n-numb, though. I don't kn-know why."

"Whereabouts?"

"H-hands, feet, sometimes f-face."

"A symptom of anxiety. Please don't worry. You've been taking the prescribed medication after your slight fall-back?"

"By f-fall-back, you mean w-when I just stopped and f-freaked everyone out?" Quirrell retorted. "I'm b-back on them. I know it's im-important."

"Good. They definitely seem to be helping. You're noticing this too, right?"

He nodded silently.

"And the cognitive behaviour therapy, you're working on that too?"

At that, he faltered. "I d-don't like it."

"I know it's tough. Remember, it takes time to try to turn all these negative thoughts around. You need to stick with it."

"I…guess." He sighed. "It j-just feels kinda…p-pointless."

"A lot of things do right now, though, don't they? That's why we have to keep working at it."

"For h-how long, though? I'm t-tired."

"For however long it takes, Quirinus. You're doing very well. I take it things are good with your boyfriend? Jamie, right?"

"I g-guess." He repeated. "But…Okay, can I t-tell you something?"

"Of course."

"C-confidentially?"

"Everything said here is confidential, you know that."

Quirrell nodded, and took a deep breath. "An old f-friend showed up. T-totally out of the b-blue, y'know? I thought he…I h-haven't seen him in so – so long."

"Why not?"

"Well, we – we were separated when I went to the – the bad p-place. I heard he'd d-died. That's p-partly why my depression's so b-bad."

She nodded slowly. "So it must've been a total shock to see him, then."

"Of c-course. I was so angry. But also – I missed him so m-much, and now he's s-suddenly back, it's like…" He gestured aimlessly. "I d-don't really know how I f-feel right now."

"Could this be a factor in why people around you have noticed an improvement in your overall mood?"

"Yeah. D-definitely. But they j-just don't know he's b-back, and it n-needs to stay that w-way."

"They don't like him?"

"That's an un-understatement."

She nodded again. "I see. And he visits you often?"

"Uh-huh. And it's a-always so nice. He…He t-treats me well."

"That's good to hear." She replied with a smile. "So, are you going to continue seeing him?"

"I h-hope so." Quirrell nodded carefully. "It's k-kinda hard keeping it s-secret, though."

She tilted her head. "Is it necessary for it to be a secret? Would your parents and Jamie really mind that much?"

Quirrell nodded again instantly. "Yes. God, they'd…I d-don't even want to – to think about it."

"And why is that?"

"He – he – wasn't always nice." Quirrell managed. "He d-did bad things. He was p-partly responsible for…s-sending me to that place…"

At that, she raised both her eyebrows. "Then I can see why they would be mad. Aren't _you _mad at him?"

"I – I was. But I d-don't think I can be n-now. He came b-back." He shrugged feebly. "I know it sounds p-pathetic, but I like h-him. And – and he likes me. We were f-friends. Before…all th-this."

She looked at him carefully. "Only you can judge how you feel towards him. And if he's making you feel better now, it can't be such a terrible thing. As long as you're aware that what he did was wrong."

"Of c-course. But he's t-trying to put it – it right."

"Then we'll give him credit for that. But make sure you tell me if anything goes wrong with him again, alright?"

Quirrell bit his lip. "Y-yeah. Thanks. I a-appreciated this conversation."

Her radiant smile was back. "So did I. It's great that you feel more comfortable with me."

"Y-yeah." He repeated, knowing that he'd been horrible to her during their first sessions. "S-sorry about everything b-before. I was c-convinced this whole th-thing was useless."

"And now?"

"I th-think it's okay." He admitted. "Just…d-difficult."

"No one said it would be easy." Her smile softened. "It's always important to talk, though."

"W-wish it had been earlier. Y'know, d-during all my shit at s-school."

"The bullying problem, yes. I agree. I think we've already established that your depression started years ago, and has only intensified to this point. But hey, now we know the only way for sure is up, don't we?"

"Woo." He replied, but cracked a smile. "Any-anyway. Thanks."

"Until next week." Came the response. "And best of luck with this friend of yours."

_I'm already lucky, because he came back from the dead and everything. _"Thanks." Was all he said, already smiling properly as he left the office. "I really, really like him."


	8. Chapter 8

**Thanks for the reviews guys! **

Waking up to sunlight streaming through his window was something Quirrell was still getting used to after six months locked away with nothing but mist and thunderstorms, and he adored it. Although it was always a battle to get out of bed and be proactive, the sun helped him along and reminded him how great it was that he was still on this Earth.

Oh, and he'd be seeing Voldemort again. That was a huge factor.

"G-going for a walk." He called loudly, wrapping a scarf around his neck before he hastily left the house, not waiting for any response. The less questions anyone asked, the better.

He made his way to the slightly run-down hotel Voldemort was staying in, and took the elevator to the second floor to save himself draining all his energy by walking up the flight of stairs. God, he was cold. Although the sun was doing its best, it was still September, and he was still too skinny.

Once Quirrell had made it to the room, he knocked a few times in attempt to bring some life back into his frozen hands, and the door was soon opened.

"Hey, man..." Voldemort yawned, looking as if he'd just woken up. "You're like...really early. But that's cool."

"It's n-nine." Quirrell replied, his teeth chattering. "That's not too - too bad. It's a n-nice day!"

"Is it?" Voldemort rubbed his eyes, pushing the door open wider. "Come in. You look freezing."

"It's a little c-cold," Quirrell admitted, "but st-still nice. We should - feed ducks or s-something."

"That's adorable." Voldemort murmured sleepily, lying back down on his bed. "Let's."

"What's up?" Quirrell lightly kicked at the bed. "Y-you're like a zombie."

"Mmhm. I'm having trouble sleeping lately."

"Me too." Quirrell confessed, sitting on the edge of the bed. "But I t-take pills to -to help, so I guess I can't c-complain too much. What's your p-problem?"

"Mm." Voldemort shrugged. "It's been like this for a while. C'mere." He aimlessly reached out for Quirrell's arm, and tugged him down on the bed.

"Hey!" Quirrell exclaimed as he hit the mattress, and rolled over onto his back. "W-what's the big idea?"

"Ssh..." Voldemort mumbled, "Relax. There, isn't this so much better?"

Quirrell didn't have to think too hard before answering, and he closed his eyes. "Yeah..."

"Just a li'l rest, then we can do whatever you want..."

"Feed ducks."

"Exactly. We'll feed ducks." Voldemort yawned. "What else d'you wanna do?"

"I d-don't know." Quirrell admitted. "Get you a - a job?"

At that, Voldemort laughed. "Yeeeah, sure thing. With a face like this an' a history like mine..."

"If you w-work in this h-hotel, you'll be away f-from a lot of people. And th-they could provide you this room for m-months free of ch-charge." Quirrell suggested. "B-besides, I don't get w-what's so bad about y-your face anyway."

"This hotel, huh? An ex-Dark Lord making beds and cleaning up after people?"

"W-why not? You love c-cleaning." Quirrell rolled over slightly, the same time as Voldemort did. They looked at each other for a moment, before Quirrell blushed. "J-just an idea. Might be d-dumb."

"No, no, I...I'll consider it." Voldemort told him, smiling at him. "I'll see if they've got anything going. That way I can make my own money instead of using yours. Which I hate doing, by the way."

"It's f-fine. Just don't go c-crazy with it." Quirrell replied, feeling somewhat captivated by the smile Voldemort was giving him. He smiled shyly back, before averting his gaze.

"How're you doing?"

"Y-you saw me two d-days ago. I haven't ch-changed since then."

Voldemort huffed a small laugh. "Fair enough, just checking if you felt okay today."

"I - I do." Quirrell nodded. "It c-comes and goes. But - but I'm good. Thanks for a-asking."

"They don't back home?"

"They're a-afraid to." Quirrell smiled humourlessly. "I take my m-meds, I keep qu-quiet, and they tip-toe around m-me. That- that's how life is n-now."

Voldemort just observed him calmly for a moment, before nodding. "Then let's start to change the way things are."

Quirrell raised an eyebrow. "Hm?"

"Yeah, no wonder you're bored and doing nothing. You need challenges, a bright guy like you."

"I do h-have challenges." He retorted. "G-getting out of bed is - is a ch-challenge."

"That's not what I mean." Voldemort lightly poked his chest. "You, Quirrell, just need to be introduced to some more opportunities. You've totally given up on interviews, is that it?"

"Well, not - not given up, ex-exactly..." He began uncertainly. "But - it's hard!"

"'Course it is, man, and I'm not denying or undermining that. But you've won awards for how damn smart and talented you are. You can do anything if you set your mind to it."

"My m-mind is sick."

"And it's gonna get better."

"Th-this isn't a simple m-matter!"

"I understand that, Quirrell, I do. You've been through hell. Of course things are tough." Voldemort paused for a moment, before sitting up. "What other reason is there for you not doing these interviews?"

Quirrell glowered at him before sitting up too. "W-what?"

"There's something else. I can tell. What else is the matter?"

Quirrell opened his mouth to retort angrily, before slowly closing it. "I - I- I'm having some troubles w-with reading."

Voldemort frowned slightly. "In what way?"

"I d-dunno, my eyesight's w-weird. It's f-from prison. I'm h-having issues with - y'know, some p-paperwork and books and..." He trailed off in embarrassment.

"Well, dude, there's an easy solution for that." Voldemort replied. "Get an appointment with an optician. You probably just need some reading glasses occasionally."

"G-glasses for reading? I - I'm twenty four, not s-sixty!"

"Tons of people need reading glasses, dude." Voldemort laughed slightly. "Has this been bothering you a lot? It's easily solved!"

Quirrell pouted unintentionally, folding his arms. "I guess. St-still."

"Listen, now you have tons of time to do stuff you never had the chance to do with a job." Voldemort snapped his fingers. "Hell, write a novel. Go take some singing lessons or something, your voice is gorgeous. Learn to paint. The options are endless, dude. Get excited!"

Quirrell listened intently, fascinated by what Voldemort was saying to him. Jamie had never suggested any of this; he just told him he was too sick to do anything at this moment. "Wha - really?" He dared himself to imagine the possibilities, and he nodded. "Y'know, I _h-have_ always w-wanted to write st-stuff. A novel?"

"Whatever you want. Short stories. Poems? Whatever!" Voldemort grinned at him, clearly noticing how he was brightening. "See? It sounds pretty fun, right?"

He nodded, tugging at the sleeves of his sweater. "It - it does, yeah." He admitted softly. "Th-thank you."

"Just telling you the truth. And for real, do more singing." Voldemort lightly poked his shoulder, before standing from the bed. "Alright, let's go get some food and feed ducks."

"Oh, I ate al-already." Quirrell lied as he stood up too. "So no w-worries there."

"You did? Sweet, good for you." Voldemort looked so pleased that Quirrell almost wanted to blurt out the truth, but refrained from doing so. He didn't want Voldemort to think any less of him.

"Uh-huh." He managed, licking his lips nervously. "So! D-ducks?"

"Sure." Voldemort made a small movement, as if he was about to take Quirrell's hand, and then hastily shoved his hands in the pockets of his jeans. "Are you gonna be warm enough?"

"P-probably. I got gloves." Quirrell replied, just as his phone buzzed. "H-hold that thought..."

_You need to come home._

_It's important. Please come back._

"Oh." Quirrell frowned. "My - my Mom needs me to c-come home."

Voldemort snorted with laughter. "You sound like a teenager past his curfew. What gives?"

"I d-don't know." Quirrell's frown deepened as he showed Voldemort. "S-sounds a little worrying."

Voldemort's smirk faded. "Huh. Well, uh...don't panic or anything, I'm sure it'll be fine. Head back and let me know if you're free later, how about that?"

"Alright." Quirrell sighed, pocketing his phone. "H-how annoying. Ducks later?"

"Whenever you want." Voldemort hesitantly patted Quirrell's back. "See you soon, dude. Take it easy."

"You t-too." Quirrell told him, already missing him by the time he left the room.

XxX

"I'm back." He called as soon as he entered the house, taking off his coat grouchily. "What's the p-problem?"

His mother emerged from the kitchen, and the look on her face immediately made him freeze.

"Darling, please don't panic." She began softly, "But the Minister of Magic is in our kitchen."

Quirrell suddenly felt like he'd been hit in the stomach. He tried to speak, but he could only manage a nonsensical, "Whassaministerhere?"

"We don't know why he's here, but he wants to see you."

Quirrell moaned, covering his face. He was going back to prison, wasn't he? "D-didn't - do - anything!"

"I know. You have absolutely nothing to worry about. And if he tries anything..." She patted her pocket where her wand was. "We have it covered, don't we? He's not threatening my son."

He could've cried. In fact, he already was. "I'm g-gonna go now." He managed. "G-gimme my wand - Disapparate."

"You don't need to run. You've not done anything."

Except he had. Had someone seen him with Voldemort? Had a wizard turned them both in? He was dead. He was as good as dead. He'd receive the Dementor's Kiss so fast...

He shakily made his way into the kitchen, where the new Minister was having a cup of tea and seated at the table. He glanced up at Quirrell and gave him a smile and a curt nod, but Quirrell just stared back at him.

"Quirinus Quirrell, isn't it?" The Minister asked. "You may have heard of me. I'm the new Minister - Rufus Scrimageour." He held out his hand expectantly.

Quirrell hesitated, slowly extending his own violently shaking hand to shake the Minister's. "H-h-hello."

"Terrible business not too long ago, wasn't it? With You-Know-Who?"

He was busted. He was dead. "Oh, y-yes, terrible."

"We've never really had a case like yours, you see. An innocently accused person in Azkaban. And I felt, as the new Minister, that I should make a formal apology on Fudge's behalf. Seeing as...Well, you know."

"What?" Quirrell replied blankly. "An a-apology?"

"Yes."

"Oh." He paused. "Th-thanks?"

"And the Prophet also want to do an interview with you to get your side of the story. What it was like being controlled by You-Know-Who, your time in Azkaban..."

Quirrell rapidly shook his head. "N-no, thanks. N-never."

The Minister paused at that, and leaned forward. "I'll be honest with you. Many people despise you back home."

That hurt, even if he'd been expecting it. "O-Oh."

"So why not give them the opportunity to see you get your name completely cleared? Tell them everything! How he possessed you, made you do all sorts...They'd eat it up."

"Well, I - I don't know..." Quirrell attempted. "I m-mean, I wasn't ex-exactly pos..." He trailed off. "Who'd in-interview me?"

"A number of people want your story. Rita Skeeter's at the top of the list, naturally."

"Ugh." Quirrell replied before he could stop himself. He knew what that woman was like; she'd twist every word he said. "Who else?"

"Your best bet is Rita. The Prophet would give you the front page. Everyone would know what you went through."

"It's - it's not some cheap g-gossip." He countered, annoyed. "I was t-tortured by your d-dementors!"

"Ah. Yes. About that..."

"Wh...What?" Quirrell asked slowly, clenching his fists to prevent any feelings of panic or anger. "H-have you brought dementors to - to this house?"

"What? Of course not!" The Minister laughed heartily. "I don't mind telling you, but they terrify me. No, no, not to worry. There are no dementors here."

Quirrell breathed out shallowly, relief washing over him, making his legs weak. "Then...what -"

"The dementors have some interesting stories about you. Your desires were rather...unorthodox, to say the least..."

"Wha?" Quirrell began pinching at his wrists, his eyes widening. "That's - none of -"

"Pining for You-Know-Who, apparently...Screaming for him every night..."

"St-stop! So what?" Quirrell's voice rose. "What's it to - to you?"

"What's it to the rest of the Wizarding World either? You wouldn't want something like that being spread, and journalists are already waiting to write up their articles. Face the facts, Mr. Quirrell. You owe us all a favour, and -"

"Oh." Quirrell began to giggle weakly. "I - I get it! This isn't a-about me. It's about your d-deteriorating image. The M-ministry fucked up and you w-want me to tell everyone it was o-okay."

"Well, that's -"

"It - it wasn't." Quirrell placed his hands on top of the kitchen table, leaning in. "T-take a good look at - at me, Rufus. It wasn't okay." He rolled up his sleeves to present his scarred wrists from the Azkaban chains. "L-look at what you - you all did to me. Fuck you. F-fuck your world and y-your Ministry and your goddamn p-prison."

The Minister flushed angrily. "Watch what you say."

"Or - or what? Will you arrest me?" Quirrell dared.

"Of course not." He protested. "It's just such a loss, that's all. You had such great potential. In fact, I was going to offer you a job."

"W-were you hell."

"In the Ministry. An Auror, as a matter of fact."

"Qu-quit it." He screwed his face up in disgust. "I'm serious, I d-don't want to h-hear this shit. And if y-you really _are_ telling the t-truth, shove it. I don't w-want anything to do with y-you or your world anymore. I'm f-finished." He straightened up, rolling his sleeves back down. "You f-finished me all by yourselves."

His face darkened as he stood from the table. "Think this over, Mr. Quirrell."

"I- I'm not doing an interview. There's n-nothing to think o-over."

He straightened his robes. "Then at least accept our apology."

"So y-you can talk to the newsp-papers yourself?" Quirrell lowered his voice. "I will n-never accept your a-apology. I sc-screamed for the Ministry to help me every- every night. I w-waited on your people to f-figure out the truth and let me go. And your people n-never came."

The Minister's face slackened. "That was all on Fudge."

"I d-don't care. I don't f-forgive the Ministry. Tell that to your D-Daily Prophet." Quirrell gestured for him to leave. "P-please get out of my house."

He looked at him for a few moments, before nodding curtly. "Once again. Our apologies." He told him, before leaving the kitchen.

Quirrell waited until he was sure he had left the house for good, before he picked up the mug that he'd been using, and hurled it at the wall. The loud shattering almost helped to disguise the fact that hot tears were spilling from his eyes, and he slumped into one of the chairs with his head in his hands.

He stayed there for a while, grateful that his mother had gotten the message that he didn't want to explain, before he got out his phone to send Voldemort a text.

_I'm sorry. I'm so tired. I'll see you tomorrow instead. It was nothing major, I'm just wiped out. I'll talk later. _

He pocketed his phone and wiped at his eyes. Time to go and get drunk.

Except it wasn't. He couldn't do that to his parents, they were already worried. And he was back on his medication so he couldn't go crazy with alcohol, as much as he wanted to.

The moment Quirrell acknowledged this, he found himself smiling a tiny bit. Wow, rational thinking. This was good. Smart, too. _And _he'd finally had the chance to tell the Ministry to fuck itself.

Quirrell silently stood up to go and sweep up the remains of the mug before going back up to bed. That was more than enough action for one day.


	9. Chapter 9

**To my guest reviewer: Thank you for reading! I have depression and anxiety too, so I know it's really tough and I'm glad you're enjoying the story! **

**Also this isn't the last chapter, it just kind of looks that way because I can't end chapters for shit. **

"Have you seen my coat?" Was the first thing Jamie said, practically storming into the house. "I must've left it here the other day…"

"Nope. H-have you done your r-random act of k-kindness for today?" Quirrell asked him, not glancing up from his book.

"Uh." Jamie moved past him. "No. I forgot. You?"

"J-Jamie!" Quirrell finally looked up at him, frowning. "You s-said you'd do this w-with me. It's m-meant to help us both."

"I don't need help." Jamie replied as he hastily shrugged on his retrieved coat. "Your therapist recommended it for _you_."

"She also said it's g-good to do it w-with others too." Quirrell muttered. "Whatever. W-wanna know what I d-did for mine?"

"Sure, hit me."

"When I was out in t-town I went to the store and I h-held the door open for, like, three p-people." Quirrell smiled. "And they s-said I was really n-nice."

"That's not really a random act of kindness." Jamie dismissed. "It's just what people do. It's like...common courtesy."

"Oh. I was k-kinda...okay." Quirrell trailed off, "So - so it wasn't g-good?"

"It was fine. But it's just what people do." Jamie replied. "Maybe next time, I don't know, offer to do laundry for a change. Help clean this house up."

The more Jamie spoke, the more Quirrell felt like he was getting punched in the stomach. God, he really did suck at this good person thing. "O-okay..."

"Anyway. Gotta run, my shift starts in thirty minutes." Jamie ruffled Quirrell's hair. "See you later. Oh, wait, actually..." He added before he moved towards the door. "There's a party on Saturday. An early Halloween thing."

"So?"

"So we're going. It'll be fun."

"I d-don't think -" Quirrell cut himself off, and tried to rephrase. "Th-that's nice. I mean, I d-don't wanna go, but you f-feel free."

"When's the last time you went to a party? Hell, when's the _first_ time you went to one?"

"Hey, I w-went to a few in -"

"Alright, I'm really gonna be late. No arguments about this, ok? We both deserve to go out and have fun."

Quirrell covered his face with one of the couch cushions, groaning. "Pleeease don't m-make me go."

"Don't be such a baby."

"I d-don't want to socialise with a b-bunch of people in a crowded en-environment."

"If you don't now, you never will."

"I d-don't think you fully understand an-anxiety." Quirrell lifted the cushion. "I w-wish it had an off switch so I c-could be fun too."

Jamie sighed heavily, heading for the door. "Look, just try to focus on other things. Like your random acts of kindness or whatever. We'll talk later."

"But - but you said mine weren't _g-good_!" He yelled after him in irritation, just as the front door slammed shut. "B-bye then." He murmured as he slumped on the couch, feeling like crap. He texted Voldemort to tell him the house was free if he wanted to come over, and within a few moments he'd Apparated in the living room.

"I got you something!" Was the first thing he said, holding something behind his back. "You gotta guess first, though."

Quirrell blinked at him. "Um...More f-flowers."

"Nope."

"I d-don't know."

"Ah, c'mon, try harder." Voldemort replied, before noticing Quirrell's expression. "Hey. Are you feeling alright today?"

"No..." Quirrell mumbled. "I - I was. But my random acts of k-kindness aren't good."

"What're you talking about? Who said that?"

"J-Jamie."

"How can he even say that? Like, who's he to distinguish one good deed from another?" Voldemort frowned heavily. "What an asshole. Why would he say that to you? You're doing great."

"H-holding doors open for p-people isn't good enough." Quirrell sighed. "And I was k-kinda pleased with my-myself, but I shouldn't be. 'C-cause everyone does that."

"Oh, and what does Mr. Perfect do?" Voldemort scowled. "Saves cats from trees?"

"He k-keeps forgetting to do th-them with me." Quirrell admitted.

"Even better. What a hypocrite. Quirrell, listen, I think you're doing an awesome job and you're being super nice to people, which is great. That's part of your therapy, isn't it? Just talking more and doing things for others? That's great." Voldemort said sincerely. "Hey, tell you what. Do you want a new partner for this thing? I'll do it with you."

Quirrell hesitated. "R-really? You will?"

"Uh-huh. And here's my act of kindness for today: This is what I got you." He presented Quirrell with a book. "It's one of those romance ones, 'cause I know you love them."

Quirrell took the book, a grin on his face. "Hey! That - that's super nice. You're g-good at this."

"I do try."

"But it c-can't just be nice actions t-towards me." Quirrell added. "They've g-gotta be random, to lots of p-people."

"Yeah, sure, I know. What, you don't think I want to do that?" Voldemort grinned. "I do. New start and everything. Even if I know I can never really be forgiven for everything I've done in my life."

"I f-forgive you."

"Yeah, but you're sweet like that." Voldemort replied with a other grin. "So, new start, beginning with being randomly kind to strangers. I can dig that. You eaten today?"

"No. Not h-hungry."

"Again?" Voldemort tried to keep the worry out of his voice. "C'mon, maybe just something small and easy."

Quirrell slumped again, flicking through his new book. "Later. I p-promise."

"You do?"

"I c-cross my heart and hope to d-die."

"Alright, alright." Voldemort laughed. "I get the point, I'm annoying you with it. Just keep it in mind, yeah? Eating's important."

Quirrell glanced up at him, shooting him a small, grateful smile. "Hey. I have a f-favour to ask."

"Hit me." Voldemort sat in the armchair, stretching tiredly.

"I'm b-being forced to go to a p-party so -"

"Someone in this lame town is throwing a party? Sweet."

"I d-don't want to go, obviously. I don't do c-crowds or parties. But Jamie's in-insisting. So..." Quirrell sat up a properly again. "You're gonna be there."

"Sounds like a riot." Voldemort snorted. "I haven't gotten hammered in forever. Or hooked up with anyone. But dude, there's one gigantic flaw in your plan there: Your boyfriend's seen me once, and if he sees me again he'll get all suspicious and start getting in our business."

"Th-this isn't an opportunity for you to - to get laid!" Was all Quirrell could manage, his voice rising slightly. "Is - that still all you c-care about?"

"Whoa, easy." Voldemort raised his hands in surrender. "I'm kidding, I'm kidding! Why do you want me there anyway?"

"Just - in case!" Quirrell snapped. "A ton of p-people and noise will f-freak me out. And there's g-gonna be booze, you moron, d'you w-want me to start drinking my issues away a-again? You'll have to k-keep an eye out!"

"You're kinda overthinking this a tiny bit. It's a party, dude. You can do whatever you like."

"And so can - can you." Quirrell stood up angrily. "Go and h-hook up with someone. I d-don't wanna hold you back."

"Excuse you." Voldemort frowned, keeping his voice calm in hopes that it would rub off on Quirrell. "Sit down, will you? I have no idea what you're talking about. I was joking." He paused. "Hell, even if I was serious, what's it to you?"

"We're f-friends!"

"'Course we are. Hey, you're my best friend if you want to get picky with labels. I still don't get why you're so mad at me."

Quirrell fumed for a few moments, before his angry expression faded slightly. "Me n-neither. Fuck who you w-want."

"Ugh Quirrell, I was _joking_. I'm not interested in getting with anyone. I just..." He huffed out a small laugh. "Dude, all I can think about right now is you. Y'know, making sure you're alright. I honestly don't care about anything else."

Quirrell faltered, his scowl relaxing into a confused frown. "B-be serious."

"I am. I swear."

"I'm all y-you're focusing on? Bull-bullshit."

"Who else would I be worrying about?"

"Y-yourself, maybe. The f-fact you're alive some-somehow and we don't kn-know how or why. How you d-don't have a job yet -"

"Oh yeah. About that." Voldemort grinned proudly. "I took your advice. Guess who works at the hotel as a cleaner?"

Quirrell blinked back at him dumbly. "You're k-kidding." He replied eventually. "You - really? You do?"

"Uh-huh. So I won't be using this anymore." Voldemort dug into his pocket and threw Quirrell's credit card at him. "They've sorted it all out for me. What, did you think I'd bought you a present with your own money?"

"I – I don't know, I just…"

"But in all seriousness, thanks for lending me the card though, dude. You saved my ass there. It's a pretty shitty job, all things considered, but if it means I get to stay there and earn by myself, it's not too bad." He snorted with laughter before continuing: "Just don't go telling anyone the Dark Lord's alive and a cleaner, got it? Can you imagine?"

Quirrell stared down at the credit card in his hand, still a little stunned. He knew he should be pleased, or at least congratulate him, but an anxious feeling was starting to bubble up inside of him, and before he could stop himself: "You - you won't leave me now you h-have your own m-money, will you?"

Now Voldemort was the one who looked surprised. "What? Is that really what you think of me? Still?"

Quirrell blushed, lowering his head. "S-sorry..."

"No, it's...No, I get it, I still have a long way to go." Voldemort replied, managing a small smile. "But of course I won't leave you. Never again."

Quirrell nodded, trying not to look too relieved. "Y-yeah, sure. I – I knew that." He lied, pocketing his credit card. "I'm r-really proud of – of you. Congratulations."

Voldemort's smile widened and he nodded back. "So. Halloween party? I'm so up for that."

"Th-that makes ones of – of us…" Quirrell muttered, slumping back into the couch. "J-just don't get too d-drunk. I know w-what you're like when – when you're drunk…"

XxX

This party was turning out to be a total nightmare, and Quirrell had arrived only an hour ago.

"Y-you're drunk," He complained when Jamie attempted to kiss him. "St-stop it. Go and t-talk to your f-friends."

"You'rre embarrasin' me," Jamie slurred, "Juss kiss me an' shut up."

"You're em-embarrassing _me_!" Quirrell countered angrily, pushing him away. "Don't sp-speak to me like – like that! Go and d-drink some w-water."

Jamie muttered something under his breath as he staggered off, and Quirrell took a few moments to do some breathing exercises. It was too loud, and there were too many people in freaky costumes, and there was –

_A dementor. _

Quirrell's eyes widened and he paled in fear, rapidly shaking his head. No, it couldn't be a dementor, that was ridiculous. It was just someone in a costume. A costume with a cloak covering their face, which only _resembled_ a dementor, and made Quirrell want to throw up.

Where was Voldemort? Was he here yet? Quirrell backed away from the dementor lookalike and finally found the willpower to move properly, heading for the back door. He shoved it open, stumbling out into the garden, and collapsed on one of the chairs, covering his mouth.

He wasn't aware that he had started to cry until he couldn't breathe due to his small sobs, and he straightened up, trying to get a grip as he wiped at his eyes. God. This had been such a bad idea.

"Your boyfriend is off his face."

Quirrell jumped violently, turning his head to see Voldemort standing behind him. "You're h-here!"

"I am, and I wish I wasn't." Voldemort replied, sitting in the chair next to Quirrell. "This party sucks, and it's making you cry. Two terrible things in my book."

"I – I'm fine," Quirrell muttered, wiping at his eyes again. "J-Jamie's really d-drunk and – and there was a d-dementor."

Voldemort stiffened. "_What_? A dementor? Are you serious?"

"Not – not a _real_ one," Quirrell hastily added, "But…some g-guy dressed up in a c-cloak. Kinda sc-scary."

Voldemort breathed out slowly. "Jeez, you almost gave me a heart attack. Shit, though, no wonder you're upset. C'mon." He stood up, holding out his hand. "Let's go."

"But – but Jamie…"

"Who cares? He clearly doesn't care about your wellbeing by dragging you out here." Voldemort said with a small scowl. "Fuck him."

"I-I'm not, that's why he's m-mad." Quirrell replied with a hint of a smile as he took Voldemort's hand and shakily stood.

Voldemort snorted slightly. "Still got your sense of humour even when you're completely done with the world. That's why you're the best."

"I'm p-pretty nice," Quirrell nodded as they began to walk. "Where – where are we going?"

"Wherever. Let's just go wherever and never look back."

Quirrell sighed softly. "One – one day. For now, I w-wanna walk under st-stars."

"Alright," Voldemort began to smile. "We'll do a clichéd walk under the stars and then I'll take you home."

Quirrell nodded, beginning to smile too. "Th-thanks."

"For what?"

They were walking around the side of the house, leaving the noise and the chaos and Quirrell's drunk boyfriend behind. It felt amazingly freeing.

"E-everything." Quirrell replied simply. "Everything."


	10. Chapter 10

Christmas was coming round, and Quirrell and Jamie's relationship was what Quirrell's mother referred to as "on the rocks", apparently. It was becoming hard for Quirrell to actually care all that much, because he couldn't get Voldemort out of his head. It was driving him crazy.

Jamie had been increasingly angry recently, always wanting to start a fight in order for Quirrell to respond to him, but the other man had been so blissfully content with his relationship with Voldemort that he rarely rose to it. What did it matter what Jamie thought of him?

"Quirinus! _Clothes_." Jamie yelled from the other room. He was evidently mad about something. "Your parents ironed all these clothes for you, and you've left them lying here! Come and get them!"

"Hmm…" He hummed back, unable to bring himself to get irritated. "Okay. Just let – let me finish this ch-chapter, it's so good…"

"Never mind the god damn chapter!" Jamie stormed into the living room, and Quirrell noticed just how exhausted he looked. The bags under his eyes grew heavier by the day, and he hadn't bothered to shave in ages. "I work my ass of all day, I come here to see you, and what do I find? You sitting in the same fucking spot, a ton of unfinished stuff lying all around you, and you with a smug smile always on your face like you _enjoy_ this! You _enjoy_ everyone doing everything for you!"

"No – no I don't." Quirrell began carefully, lowering his book. "C-calm down. I'm sorry, o-okay? I'll put – put the clothes away."

"I try so hard to make you happy, but you're never satisfied!"

"Th-that's not true!" Quirrell protested with an angry little scowl. "Don't be – be like this, c'mon. I a-appreciate everything you –"

"I'm not even a boyfriend, I'm a babysitter, and I'm sick to death of –"

"Whoa!" Quirrell stood up instantly, his hands up in surrender. "Ex-excuse me? My _babysitter_? Are you s-serious? I'm a g-grown man who's b-been through hell, not a d-defenceless kid!"

"Yeah, ok, Quirinus." Jamie snapped, turning away from him. "The famous backstory you've never cared to tell me. 'Quirinus has been through hell', that's all I've heard since day one."

"Are you c-calling me a l-liar?" He challenged, walking over to him, before sighing and placing a hand on his shoulder. "Jamie. I – I'm sorry. I know, I d-don't do much around h-here, and I sh-should. It's just –"

"It's just you're never in the house." Jamie shrugged him off. "And I think I know why. Why you always go out for walks and come back smiling."

"You – you do?" Quirrell replied hesitantly, beginning to grow nervous. "I d-don't think…you do…"

"You're cheating on me. You have been for a while."

A silence followed, before Quirrell burst out laughing, shaking his head hurriedly. "No! No, J-Jamie, God, that's –"

"Liar!" Jamie spun around furiously, gripping tightly onto Quirrell's shoulders. The other man abruptly stopped laughing. "Do you think I'm an idiot? I spend so much time on you, I treat you well, and you give me nothing in return. You're 'still waiting' for the right time. We've been together for months now and you're _still_ not ready for sex. Y'know anyone else would've broken up with you by now?"

"You-you're accusing me of ch-cheating because I won't s-sleep with you?" Quirrell asked incredulously. "Are you – you serious?"

"I'm not _accusing_ you, I know for a fact! My friends have seen you around with someone else. You left me alone at that Halloween party to go off with some random dude. You're cheating on me, Quirinus, after all the time I've put into this!"

"P-please stop yelling at – at me." Quirrell managed, pulling away from Jamie's hold on his shoulders. "I'm not – not a pet you've t-trained, I'm a person. I'm y-your boyfriend."

"Are you, now? Are you sure about that?"

"Y-you're breaking up – up with me?"

Jamie didn't reply for a long time, and Quirrell promptly shoved past him, heading for the front door.

"Yeah, go on, then! Run away, that's all you ever do. Run to your new man." Jamie yelled after him.

"St-stop shouting! You're ac-acting completely crazy!"

"Just fuck off, why don't you? Give our parents the rest they deserve. Who even needs all your baggage?"

Quirrell stopped, turning to him, unable to mask his horror. "W-_what_? You c-can't speak to – to me like that."

"This isn't your house. They were going to have to get rid of you sooner or later." He retorted icily. "Just do them a favour and leave. Pack your bags and go."

Quirrell spat at him before opening the front door and slamming it behind him. He bit down hard on his lip so he wouldn't scream out of frustration, and then he began to run.

_Voldemort_.

XxX

"Jeez, I'm coming, I'm…" Voldemort shoved his door open at the sound of rapid knocking, only to hit into Quirrell. "Shit! Sorry, man, I wasn't expecting you – What happened?"

"Who c-cares?" Quirrell replied, storming into the hotel room and wiping at his eyes. "Like, really, who – who cares? Teach me h-how to dance!"

"Dance?" Voldemort echoed as he closed the door. "Uh, sure. Well, I can maybe show you the standard waltz, or…"

"P-perfect!" Quirrell clapped his hands, standing a little straighter and setting his jaw, but his lips quivered and his eyes were red from crying. He took off his coat, aimlessly throwing it on Voldemort's bed. "I – I've always wanted to d-dance a waltz. Come o-over here and t-teach me!"

"Quirrell, man, are you alright?" Voldemort asked carefully, though he did step closer towards him. "Has something happened?"

"I – I think my b-boyfriend left me," Quirrell admitted, before his voice cracked completely and he covered his face. "Oh God, I'm s-sorry, I don't even c-care that much, but – but he's l-left me, they always do, and – and he was so _h-horrible_!"

"Jamie? He broke up with you?" Voldemort asked dumbly, reaching out a hand to squeeze Quirrell's shoulder. "Is he fucking crazy?"

"He – he said I was ch-cheating on him, and th-that I had too much b-baggage and –" He wheezed, clutching his chest, and Voldemort swiftly moved him so he could sit down on the bed.

"Breathe. In for four, then out again, remember? You're safe in here, he can't find you, I'm right here with you." Voldemort waited for Quirrell to get his breath back, before continuing: "He accused you of cheating? Where did that come from?"

"'C-cause I'm never in the – the house," Quirrell panted. "I'm a-always with you. He s-said his f-friend had seen us t-together."

"There's nothing wrong with you meeting with a friend." Voldemort replied, taking his hand and squeezing it comfortingly. "He's completely jumped to the wrong conclusion there."

"I – I know, I tried, but he was so m-mad! He told me to – to leave!"

"Since when was it his house?" Voldemort rolled his eyes. "_You_ can kick _him_ out anytime, not the other way around. God, what a moron…"

Quirrell just shrugged, wiping his eyes. "M-maybe he's right. I'm too – too much work, he's a-always said that."

"Dude, are you serious? Are you really gonna let him walk all over you?" Now Voldemort was beginning to get a little agitated. "Why do you let everyone _do_ this to you? It's just – it's just – C'mon, man, you stood up to _me_ when I was an evil parasite on the back of your damn head, right? Why won't you do the same to your so-called boyfriend?"

"Oh, let – let me think!" Quirrell snapped with a shake of his head. "'C-cause back then I'd n-never been arrested!"

"Alright, okay, that is a completely fair point…" Voldemort began, trying to force down the sharp sting of guilt in his stomach. "But Quirrell, you can't let him get away with this."

"He just b-broke up with me, r-remember? He al-already got away w-with it." Quirrell muttered in response, before standing up. "P-please teach me the – the waltz."

"Right." Voldemort hesitated, before slowly reaching for Quirrell's hands. "If I'm leading, you have to put your hand just here…" His voice dropped as Quirrell placed his hand on his waist, taking a step closer. Voldemort cleared his throat, feeling his face heat up. "Yeah, just like that, and then just focus on this rhythm. _One_, two, three, _one, _two, three…"

Quirrell's eyebrows were scrunched in concentration as Voldemort began leading him, and he glanced down at his feet.

"Exactly, yeah," Voldemort grinned. "We just repeat these steps over and over, moving forwards each time. But hey, look up at me, you can't keep staring at the floor like that."

"Oh, s-sorry." Quirrell lifted his head with a sheepish smile. "I w-wanna make sure I – I'm…doing it…right…" He trailed off as he stared at Voldemort, and how the other man was looking at him. He swallowed nervously, feeling himself lean in at the exact same time as Voldemort until –

They were kissing. Soft, chaste, but kissing nonetheless. Nothing overbearing or scary, it was just _right. _Perfect._ There_ were the fireworks Quirrell had read about. He was the first to slowly pull away, feeling tingles throughout his entire body, though he was unable to look Voldemort in the eyes.

"Sorry," Was the first thing Voldemort managed to say, sounding extremely nervous. "I didn't – I mean, I don't regret it, but – are you alright?"

Quirrell pulled away from him, his heart hammering in his chest as he looked around the room for his coat. "J-Jamie will h-hate me."

"Jamie?" Voldemort repeated dumbly. "Who cares about _Jamie_?"

"Oh, God, I – I'm sorry, I h-have to go home." Quirrell snatched up his coat with shaky hands, turning back to look at Voldemort. "I d-don't regret it e-either, I really l-liked it, but –"

"Then what's the problem?"

"I j-just can't, I'm so c-confused, I can't ch-cheat on-"

"He _left_ you, Quirrell! You haven't cheated on anybody." Voldemort attempted to reason, reaching for his hand. "Stay. Calm down. Everything's going to be okay."

"I d-don't know!" Quirrell exclaimed, covering his mouth. "I'm s-sorry, Voldemort, I am, but – but I can't!"

Before Voldemort could say anything else, Quirrell had ran from the room, leaving him behind in a complete daze.


	11. Chapter 11

It had been a whole week since they'd kissed, and Voldemort hadn't heard a word from Quirrell. He'd attempted to call him a few times, but it always went straight to his voicemail, and from how they'd left things it was clear Quirrell wasn't going to come back to the hotel in a hurry.

Voldemort groaned lamely, rubbing his forehead as he aimlessly stared down at his phone. He sent another text, just asking if Quirrell was alright, already knowing he'd get no response. "C'mon…" He muttered aloud, impatiently tapping his foot.

Quirrell needed his space, Voldemort got that. But seriously, not one damn text? After all that? He at least deserved a bit of clarification.

Unless something was wrong.

Voldemort shoved his phone in his pocket, running his hands through his hair until it was all tousled instead of in its usual slicked back style. Maybe it wouldn't be a bad idea to check up on him after all; if he really wanted to be left alone, that was fine, but Voldemort could at least make sure he was alright.

He stood from the bed, hastily smoothing back his hair as he glanced in the mirror so that he looked presentable and shrugged on the new jacket he'd bought himself. He then frowned, wondering if he looked too casual, and looked around for something else to wear before he caught a hold of himself. It wasn't a goddamn date, after all.

A date would be awesome, though. Voldemort smiled stupidly, unable to help himself as he pictured it. The way Quirrell had kissed him. The way he felt himself. It was all so new and different and – quite honestly – _wonderful_.

So, okay, if Quirrell was home – and he should be – maybe Voldemort could summon the courage up to ask him out on a date. After all, they still had to go rollerblading, and maybe they could make it a little more official. Voldemort's grin widened as he gave himself one final glance in the mirror, before taking a deep breath and leaving his room.

The walk to Quirrell's house passed by in a blissful blur, and he found himself nodding at passing strangers and smiling at kids, which was just crazy. Only a few months ago he'd been completely focused on taking over the world, and now he was thinking of nothing but Quirrell and the two of them living out their lives together in peace.

His illusion was abruptly shattered as he neared Quirrell's house to find a police car parked outside it. Voldemort frowned, taking a hesitant step closer to make sure it was definitely the right house, and when he realised it was his eyes widened. Something had been wrong. Was Quirrell in trouble?

"Quirrell?" He ran up the front path, hammering on the front door. "_Quirrell_! You in here?"

The door was abruptly swung open and Voldemort came face to face with Jamie and a cop. There was a long silence, before Jamie jabbed a finger at him accusingly. "_You_! The weird guy! Where's Quirinus?"

Voldemort immediately resisted the urge to punch him in the face. "Look, I don't know what the fuck is going on, I haven't seen him for –"

"It was you, wasn't it?" Jamie gasped, turning to the policewoman. "Quirinus kept leaving the house, and I'm sure it was to see this guy. He knows something! He'll know where he is!"

"Is Quirrell _missing_?"

"Don't act like you don't know! He's been missing for a whole week!" Jamie closed his eyes, breathing heavily. "After I – I yelled at him, he left the house and he hasn't been back since. I know I was out of line, but –"

_After the kiss, too. _

"I'm in the dark here." Voldemort managed, raising both hands in surrender. "What about his parents?"

"They're out looking for him. Devastated." The cop spoke up, still glancing at him suspiciously. "We've searched the area, but it appears he's no longer in this town."

"He can't have gone far." Voldemort attempted, realising he'd better leave fast if Quirrell's parents were around and could potentially see him at any moment. "I'll look for him. I'm sure he'll be around, he has to be. D'you have any leads? Someone might have spotted him!"

"This isn't CSI." Jamie countered. "No one's kidnapped him, he's just missing. Worrying us all sick."

"There are a number of factors we have to consider." The policewoman interrupted before Voldemort could snap. "We know Quirinus is mentally ill, so we have to find him soon. We also know he was last seen in this house, so –"

"No." Voldemort shook his head hastily, realising this was a really stupid thing to say, but at this point he was too concerned to care. "No, actually, he – he was last with me."

Jamie's eyes widened, and he stepped out of the house, looking as though he was fully prepared to knock Voldemort out. "It's _true_, then. He's cheating on me!"

"No, no, he isn't. Wasn't. Whatever." Voldemort raised his hands again. "We're just friends. He was upset with the way you treated him, and I don't blame him. Don't even try to pull the entitlement card here. You screwed up."

"What happened, sir?" The policewoman asked him seriously. "Did anything else upset him before he left? You're the one person with new information for us. You have to tell us what you know."

"I – can't." Voldemort began, doing his best not to come across as suspicious and realised he was failing miserably. "I'm gonna look for him. I have to – yeah, start searching. Sorry. I'll be back!" He backed away, before turning and running off, fully aware that he was now a likely suspect.

XxX

Quirrell tugged at the sleeves of his sweater, his teeth chattering as he longingly stared at coffee shop. He was _freezing_ and badly needed something warm or he'd be in trouble; he was already on the brink of passing out. This 'running away' plan really wasn't working out too well, but at least he'd gotten out of the town. Now his parents could be happy without him and have the chance to live their lives without constantly worrying. Now Voldemort would be spared from always being stuck with him too.

"Are you alright?"

He flinched violently at the sound of a voice, and turned his head to see a young woman dressed all in pink staring at him with concern. "H-Huh?"

"Yeah, you look cold. And tired, come to that. D'you need money for a taxi?" She asked, already looking through her purse.

"N-no, it's okay. I j-just want c-coffee." He explained, then realised how bad that sounded. "But – but that's okay too. No w-worries."

"Has something happened, hon? Do you need me to call someone for you?"

"I – I'm not a lost ch-child." Quirrell snorted, managing a weak laugh. "I'm f-fine."

"You don't look it. Hey, c'mon, let's go inside and I'll get you that coffee." She suggested, gesturing for him to move.

"Are – are you a cop?"

"No," The woman raised her eyebrows in surprise, before grinning. "Why? Are you running from the law? Did you rob a bank?"

He laughed again, already feeling a lot more comfortable in her presence. "I-I'm running, but not f-from the law. They'll p-probably take me a-away if they find me, though."

"Who will?"

"My f-family. And ex. They'll t-take me to hospital. Or th-they'll just be better off w-without me." Quirrell's voice suddenly cracked and he backed away. "I g-gotta go. Forget it."

"Hey, hey, slow down there! I'm buying you coffee, remember? And you don't have to worry about anyone taking you anywhere." She told him reassuringly, and he found himself believing her despite himself. "Why would they take you away?"

"I'm m-mentally ill, y'know." He told her in a hushed voice, swallowing nervously. "I'm a b-burden."

"You're _not_ a burden." She replied immediately. "And whoever's said that to you doesn't deserve the time of day, and you definitely shouldn't listen to them. That's why you're out here freezing your ass off?"

"K-kinda."

"Honey, do yourself a favour, and go home. After I buy you coffee and something to eat, of course." She took his arm and he surprised himself by not wanting to pull away. "And if you need a taxi, I'll get that for you too."

"Y-you're very nice," He told her dumbly as she led him into the shop. "I'm Qu-Quirrell."

"I'm Devin."

"I'm a-also gay." Quirrell informed her, just so she didn't think he was coming on to her.

Devin laughed, patting his arm as she moved away. "Makes no difference to me, Quirrell. Just promise me that after this you'll go home, okay?"

He hesitated for a second, weighing up his options, before nodding carefully. "M-maybe. I mean, p-probably. Yeah." He told her, and took a seat as he decided what he was going to do.


	12. Chapter 12

It had been too long. Quirrell had been missing for days now, with no contact whatsoever, and Voldemort couldn't go back to his house without being discovered. It still didn't stop him from searching the whole town, even though he already knew deep down that there was no way Quirrell was around anymore.

For some ungodly, inexplicable reason, he'd left after their kiss without as much as a goodbye. Had Voldemort scared him off? It had _felt _like mutual attraction, but it wouldn't be the first time he'd fucked something up.

He eventually forced himself to get out of bed and get dressed, and mindlessly switched on the muggle radio as he did so. He pulled back the curtain a little bit, huffing bitterly when he saw it was raining _again_.

"You better be somewhere warm, idiot." He muttered aloud, letting the curtain fall back as the presenter's voice droned on and on.

"…_And now, the man reported missing almost two weeks ago has been found. Quirinus Quirrell, aged 24, has been taken into hospital after being found unconscious two days ago. Reports from yesterday say he is now awake and seems relatively well –"_

Voldemort dropped his shirt through numb fingers, a wide, disbelieving smile spreading across his face. Fucking _finally! _

_" – though no statement from him has been given at this time. Quirinus is said to have run away after a dispute with –"_

Voldemort switched off the radio, somewhat in a daze. Quirrell was in hospital, but was apparently alright. That was all that mattered right now. Still grinning, Voldemort finished getting dressed, only swearing when he remembered he'd never gotten around to buying an umbrella or at the very least a waterproof coat, and he couldn't afford a cab, so –

Ah, fuck it.

As soon as he was outside, Voldemort was running, and the feeling was still so new and freeing that he couldn't help but laugh a little. God, he really _had_ turned into a sap, hadn't he? Damn that Quirrell. Damn his wonderful personality and gorgeous face and beautiful voice…

He was absolutely soaked by the time he finally reached the hospital, and hastily attempted to smooth down his now ruffled, damp hair. Teeth chattering as he made his way inside, he surveyed the area to keep an eye out for Quirrell's parents or any police, and was he deemed it safe he walked up to the desk. "Hey," He cleared his throat, flashing the receptionist what he hoped was an easy-going smile. After years sneering evilly and scowling, he reckoned he just about pulled it off. "So, uh, I'm looking for Quirinus Quirrell. He was found –"

The young woman glanced up from her computer with raised eyebrows. "You a relative?"

"Well, I –"

"Family only at the moment, I'm afraid."

"Oh, what? C'mon!" Voldemort attempted to scoff. "I'm his friend, he'll want to see me."

"The way he is right now, he probably won't even recognise you." She replied with a small huff, and Voldemort's expression grew stony.

"What's _that_ meant to mean?"

She continued to glance at her computer, then looked up hastily with a shake of her head. "Oh, no, nothing about his mental illness! No, it's his pneumonia. He's just a bit all over the place. We have to take this very seriously."

Voldemort was suddenly very aware of how cold he was; the icy rainwater trickled down his arms, but that wasn't why he'd gone numb. Fear was gripping his throat. "Pneumonia?" He croaked. "_What_ pneumonia? I heard on the radio that – that he was –"

"The results were recent, but it's clear that all that time outside in the cold has done its damage." Her voice had turned sympathetic, but Voldemort was past caring. "Maybe I could talk to his parents. It's really up to them if they'll let you see him."

"His parents?" He echoed dumbly. "No, they hate me. Will he be alright? He's…he's too thin. For pneumonia. He's so thin. He's gonna be really scared. Listen, can you at least tell me what floor he's on?"

"I'm sorry, I really can't. It's against protocol."

"The _floor. _Just the floor! I'm going to search the whole damn hospital anyway, so you might as well give me a head start!"

"I'm going to have to ask you to leave, sir."

_Imperio the bitch. _Voldemort's hands trembled as he resisted the powerful urge to grab his wand from his pocket and curse her. He couldn't go back down that route now – he'd been doing so well. "I won't be a problem. I'll literally look through the door, see him for two seconds, and then leave. I swear. They won't even know I'm there!"

"Listen, I can't give out any information. Like, I can't say, for example, that he's on ward three of the second floor, because it's not allowed."

"I'm begging you here, I –" Voldemort stopped abruptly, scrutinizing her. "What was that?"

"Like I said, I'm not allowed to give out information. Now get out of here." She returned to look at her computer, but gave a quick nod towards the elevator and he grinned.

"I owe you one. I really – thanks!" He practically tripped over his own feet in his hasty attempt to get to the right floor, deciding to take the stairs instead of wasting any more time for the elevator. He was so intent on finding Quirrell that he momentarily forgot his face wasn't hidden, and burst into the hospital room without a second thought. The first thing he saw was Quirrell asleep in the hospital bed, and he desperately made his way towards him. "Qui –"

He was interrupted by a high-pitched scream, and his exclamation died in his throat as his gaze fell on Quirrell's parents, who had been sitting in the corner of the room. His mother had leaped to her feet, her scream still reverberating off of the walls, and he stared helplessly back at her. "You! _You!_ Stay back!" Her wand was in her hand in seconds, and she pointed it at his chest. Behind her, Quirrell's father was staring in dumbfounded fear, as if he couldn't believe what was happening. Voldemort felt that way too.

"I'm not here to make trouble." Voldemort carefully raised his hands in surrender. "Honestly. I – I know it's hard to believe, but I've changed, and I really just came to see Quirrell –"

"Don't you dare! Don't you _dare_ stand there and say his name!" Her voice shook with hysteria as her face paled in fear. "You have no idea the damage you've done!"

"Don't!" Quirrell's father grabbed her arm back, his face equally pale. "Don't make threats to him. He's the Dark Lord and he won't hesitate in –"

"I'm not the Dark Lord anymore!" Voldemort interrupted. "I've changed, like I said. I just want to –"

"Quirinus thinks you're dead. You _should_ be dead! You mean to say you've been alive this whole time and just wanted to drop in when my son is in _hospital_?"

"No, listen to me, alright? This isn't a sudden thing, he's known I'm alive for a while now. We're…we're friends, see?"

Quirrell's mother practically screamed again, striding towards him and jabbing her wand forcefully into his chest. "You – you bastard, you absolute – I don't care who you are, you destroyed my son! _Destroyed_ him!"

"Please, I'm sorry, but please let me explain –"

"There's nothing to explain. You're the Dark Lord and you sent our son to Azkaban." His father cut across from him, and his jaw twitched. "You're probably why he ran away. What did you do? Threaten him? Hurt him? Made him fear for his life again?"

"Get the wizard police." Quirrell's mother whispered, the hand holding her wand now limp, all the energy drained from her. "He could kill us all without thinking twice."

"I'm not going to do that." Voldemort protested. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have come, but I was just worried. I searched everywhere when I heard he'd gone missing. And – and now I know about the pneumonia. Is there anything we can do? Magic-wise, I mean?"

"Get _out_!"

"I'm not leaving until you hear me out and let me –"

Quirrell suddenly stirred in the hospital bed, his eyelids fluttering. Everyone stopped, staring at him cautiously, before he croaked: "Mom?"

"Yes, yes, I'm here." She instantly grasped one of his hands, squeezing it tight. "How are you? Do you need anything? I'm right here."

"Mmmph…" He stirred again, groggily opening his eyes. "Let Voldemort…stay."

Voldemort blinked, his breath hitching in his throat. "Quirrell?"

"Yeah…let 'im stay, p-please…He's my – my friend…"

"Quirinus?" His father asked quietly, but Quirrell's eyes had closed again as he fell back asleep. He turned to look at Voldemort, and his voice darkened. "Perhaps it's time you started explaining. _Everything_. From the beginning."


	13. Chapter 13

"I don't believe you. We would've known." Quirrell's mother said aloud for about the fifth time, while Voldemort ran his hands through his already tousled hair in agitation.

"You can believe what you want, but it's the _truth. _I've been seeing him most of the time since his birthday, alright?"

"We would've _known_." She repeated, though her eyes had grown increasingly troubled throughout Voldemort's explanation, and she was looking anywhere but at him. "With everything that's happened to him, I thought I was being aware and taking care of him, but _now_ –" Finally, she lifted her head and glared at Voldemort in pure disgust. "If a monster like you can worm his way back into his life without me knowing, what kind of a mother am I?"

Her husband reached for her hand, giving it a firm squeeze. "He's a master at this sort of thing. For all we know, he's been screwing with our minds as well as Quirinus'."

"I haven't been screwing with anyone's minds, and I'm _not_ a monster." Voldemort said through gritted teeth. "Jamie made him run. He came to my hotel room in a state because of it, and then –"

"What did you _do_ to him to make him not want to come home?" Quirrell's father interrupted. "Something else must have happened. What did you do?"

"I didn't –" Voldemort raised his hands in defence, shaking his head. "I didn't hurt him, I wouldn't. I tried to help him, and I _did, _but then –"

"You wouldn't hurt him." Quirrell's mother repeated flatly, and then she began to laugh. It was fairly hysterical, and soon tears were falling from her eyes and she was rocking in her chair, unable to speak.

Voldemort could only watch, realising the complete irony of his sentence, before he abruptly stood from his chair, pacing around the corridor. "I know I fucked up, I _know_ that. I'll never be able to forget it. But I _swear_ since then I've been working to put things right. Quirrell is the greatest person I've ever had the luck to meet. I want to help him, he's my top priority, and probably always _will_ be, because I'm pretty sure I love –" He caught himself just in time, his eyes widening in surprise at how naturally that had almost come out, before coughing awkwardly. "I'm pretty sure I love being able to call him my friend."

They both looked at him, still clearly distrustful, but also bewildered.

"If I _was_ still the Dark Lord, I'd have disposed of you ages ago." He admitted quietly, feeling himself flush in embarrassment as he thought of his old 'glory' days. "I don't want to do that anymore; your son's changed me for the better. Please. _Please_ let me see him and talk to him."

Quirrell's mother stood up silently, wiping at her eyes as she approached him. Glancing at him up and down, she gave a shaky nod, gesturing towards the door of Quirrell's room. "We're going to be outside the whole time so if you try _anything_…"

"Thank you." Was all he said, placing his hand on the door. He pushed it open, entering the serene room which was like a different world compared to the hallway outside, and exhaled quietly. "God…"

"Are they t-taking this whole m-mess well?"

Voldemort glanced up, surprised to find Quirrell awake, and immediately approached the bed to clasp his hand. "Holy shit am I glad to see you." He managed, squeezing his hand tight. "I was _so_ worried, dude! Why did you have to take off like that?"

Quirrell attempted to sit up with a groan. His skin was pale and he was definitely weak, though his brown eyes were soft and full of hope. "S-sorry."

"No, don't. It's…I shouldn't have…I didn't mean to scare you away."

"My p-parents…?"

"They're outside. I think I've managed to convince them that I'm not a danger anymore, but it's gonna take a lot of work."

Quirrell furrowed his eyebrows in confusion. "Y'mean y-you're gonna…_stay_?"

"Why the hell wouldn't I? I told you, remember? I'm never leaving you again."

"E-even after the…" He swallowed nervously, his eyes darting around the room as he lowered his voice. "The k-kiss?"

"If anything, that only made me want to stay even more." Voldemort replied, and just saying those words was like a light switch being flicked on inside of him. Suddenly, everything seemed to make sense, and he found himself smiling. "Actually, I'd kiss you again, but I think you need to rest up. So, will this do?" He lifted Quirrell's cold hand and pressed his lips against it.

Quirrell's pale face was rapidly growing redder, and he looked at him in bewilderment. "What's, uh…g-going on? Is this real?"

"Yeah. Weird, huh? I feel like I'm dreaming too." Alright, that had been sappy, but this was Quirrell. He was worth it. "But don't worry, you're awake and you're in a good place. As good as hospitals can get, anyway."

"I h-hate 'em."

"I know, I'm sure it's not a lot of fun, but they're here to look after you until you're better."

Quirrell absent-mindedly ran his thumb over Voldemort's knuckles, before glancing back up at him. "Jamie h-hasn't visited. I g-guess it really is – is over."

"Do you mind?" Voldemort had to ask. "I mean, he _should_ come to see you. You were his…"

"I m-mind a little." Quirrell admitted, and then gave him a shy smile. "But – but I'd much rather see y-you. Sorry for running."

"Don't apologise. It's all good."

"If – if I'd stayed, would we have k-kissed some more?"

Voldemort laughed, albeit quietly, and grinned back at him. "Oh, yeah. For sure. If you wanted to, obviously. It was nice, huh?"

"R-really nice. Will you – you do it again?"

"If you want me to. But not now. Like I said, you need rest and you're still sick."

"Then – then after? When I g-get home?"

"I promise." Voldemort said, ultimately having to laugh again. "Look at us, scheduling when we next kiss. This is a real change for me, let me tell you."

The door to Quirrell's room suddenly opened, and Jamie entered in a rush, only to freeze. He stared at Quirrell, before shaking his head slowly. "Quirinus."

Quirrell carefully let go of Voldemort's hand, attempting to sit up a little straighter. "J-Jamie. Took you long en-enough."

"Don't give me that, not when you're – oh, forget it." Jamie huffed bitterly, folding his arms. "I came to tell you that it's over."

"I f-figured it already w-was."

"You were cute, we had some fun, but you were impossible. Good luck to the both of you."

"F-fuck you." Quirrell muttered, lying back down in defeat.

"Yeah, if only you would, huh?" Jamie retorted, already turning for the door. "I'll tell you now, ghost-face, you'll have no luck with that one."

"I'm guessing _I'm_ ghost-face?" Voldemort asked with a small smirk, tapping his fingers against his knees.

"He's frigid. I've tried to loosen him up for _months. _Probably wouldn't even have been worth it if I'd succeeded. And I was so good to him; I bought him so much stuff, I drove him places, I took him out on dates, and he never returned the favour."

"N-nice guy syndrome." Quirrell murmured into his pillow. "You're d-disgusting. I'm not – not a sex slot-machine."

"You heard the guy." Voldemort said, glancing at Quirrell proudly. "Now fuck off before I crack your head open. And believe me, I can do _so_ much worse than that. Get the hell out and don't ever bother him again."

Jamie clenched his jaw, taking one last look at Quirrell. "Have a nice life, Quirinus."

"I w-will. When you leave." Was Quirrell's only reply, and he didn't even flinch when the door was abruptly closed, the last trace of Jamie gone. "So m-much for my parents keeping g-guard."

"Are you alright?"

"Y-yeah. I mean, I kinda w-wanna die, but that – that's nothing too new."

"Don't…" Voldemort began, trailing off when he realised that Quirrell couldn't help it.

"I kn-know it sounds pathetic, b-but I liked having a b-boyfriend." Quirrell began, tugging at his duvet. "It felt safe. He s-smelled good and h-hugged me and took me p-places. But he was an – an ass too. A c-condescending _ass_. And a m-muggle, so he never un-understood why I'm so m-messed up. You c-can't exactly mention Az-Azkaban to a muggle."

"Would you like me to stay?" Voldemort asked him quietly. "I can let you sleep if you want and come back later. Jamie's never gonna bother you again. And…and if you want, I don't know, maybe I…I'd like to, uh, maybe be…"

"Uh-huh?" Quirrell sat up again, his eyes full of hope once more. "Go – go on. Yes?"

"And I'm not just saying this to be some sort of consolation prize, it's 'cause I – well, y'know how much I like you, and how much I care for you, which is all new for me and _shit_, it's weird, but –"

"Yes, Voldemort?"

"Right, yeah, so…Maybe, if you want, could I –" He cleared his throat, opting to look at the ceiling rather than at Quirrell. "Maybe _I_ could be your boyfriend? I can hug you and take you places. And hopefully make you feel safe. If you want. Oh jeez, that sounded so fucking lame, I'm sorry. You know what, forget it, let me -"

"Voldemort." Quirrell interrupted him, holding up a hand. When Voldemort finally looked back at him, he found Quirrell smiling in a way he never had before. "I th-thought you'd never ask."


	14. Chapter 14

**This might be the second to last chapter – I'm not really sure yet! Enjoy and please review! **

"It's a c-cannula, see?" Quirrell carefully tapped at the tubes up his nose as he rested his head on Voldemort's broad shoulder. "It g-gives me oxygen, 'c-cause I'm so skinny and my body isn't w-working properly. I was on it b-before, but I g-guess I still haven't put on en-enough weight."

"Muggle technology is pretty cool." Voldemort had to admit, stroking Quirrell's soft hair and wondering the last time he had ever felt so secure in himself. "What else have I been missing out on?"

"Ah, y'know. C-cars." Quirrell laughed, albeit quietly so he didn't have to move his body so much. "Snapchat? So m-much, man."

"You can educate me some more later. How long do you have to keep the…tube thing?"

"C-cannula." Quirrell repeated patiently. "And I d-don't know. I think I have to – to take it home. Speaking of…" Quirrell shifted himself up into a sitting position, and glanced at Voldemort. "Y-you're coming with me, right?"

"Back to your _house_?" Voldemort questioned, his eyes widening a little in surprise. "I mean – Hey, I'd love to, but I'm not sure that's the best idea."

"But – but we love each other." Quirrell said, and just hearing that made Voldemort's heart thump loudly, and he grinned.

"Yeah, we do." He assured him, gently tapping Quirrell's nose. "I'm just thinking about you and your parents. They won't want me there, and it _is_ their house, so…"

"But we've ex-explained to them _so_ m-many times." Quirrell sighed heavily, fiddling with his tubes in exasperation. "It's d-dumb of you to stay h-hiding in that hotel when you can l-live with me."

"Dude, I _want_ to live with you. Of course I do. I just don't want there to be a ton of bad vibes because of me. That's kind of what you're trying to avoid."

Quirrell bit his lip for a moment, before relaxing against Voldemort again. "I'm sorry I ran a-away…"

"You've apologised at least a hundred times." Voldemort rubbed Quirrell's arm soothingly. "I already told you – it's all ok. You're here, you're safe."

"It was so st-stupid, though. So fucking…" He faltered, and Voldemort heard him softly count to ten. Once he was done, he managed a genuine smile. "We'll t-talk to them. It'll all be f-fine."

"Sure, it will." Voldemort agreed, finally summoning up the courage to kiss the top of Quirrell's head. "Whatever happens, I'm here for you now."

"I know." Quirrell said, angling his head to grin at him. "Y-you're my boyfriend."

"Hell yeah, I am. Isn't that the greatest?"

XxX

"You stay down here." Quirrell's mother said tersely, pointing to the couch. "And you stay no longer than a week. I don't care where you go after that. And just so you know, we'll be locking our bedroom doors and putting up a dozen protective spells on them every night."

"There's really no need to waste your energy like that." Voldemort replied, dumping his bag on the floor. "Thanks for having me here."

"I don't _want_ you here. This is for my son. He's convinced himself that you're in love with him."

"Yeah, that's 'cause I am." He said, already moving for towards the stairs. "Is he sleeping?"

"Don't you dare wake him."

"I won't. I just want to see him." Voldemort shot over his shoulder, already hurrying upstairs. At least he could stay for a little bit. Maybe if he made himself useful and proved himself, he could stay long term, until he and Quirrell got a place of their own.

He gently knocked on Quirrell's door, deciding he might as well check if he was awake for himself. There was a small silence, before Quirrell tentatively called out: "Who is it?"

"It's me."

The door immediately swung open; Quirrell still required the use of his cannula, and his movements were slow, but he already looked so much better. The light had returned in his eyes, his stutter lessening. "Ah, thank God," He breathed, beckoning Voldemort inside. "Last th-thing I need is my – my Mom interrogating me. Hey, you."

"Hey," Voldemort smiled back, gently kissing his lips, still feeling so incredibly privileged at how he could now do that whenever. "You look great."

Quirrell squirmed happily at the kiss, and wrapped his arms around Voldemort's neck. "You – you're a liar. But I've s-slept for so long, it was so g-good!"

"Yeah, bet it's nice to sleep in your own bed after all that."

"It'd be better if – if you were n-next to me." Quirrell replied, oblivious to Voldemort's blush. "I kn-know it's a small b-bed, but still, we c-could squeeze."

"Your Mom banished me to the couch, actually." Voldemort managed, fully aware of how he sounded like a high-school kid all over again. "Y'know. In case I don't get up to any, uh, funny business."

"F-funny business?" Quirrell repeated dubiously.

"Like, ah…She's probably afraid I'll murder all of you anyway, but I think she's convinced I want to jump you more than anything."

Quirrell raised his eyebrows. "D-don't you?" He had to ask. The question was so unexpected that Voldemort completely blanked.

"Do I want to – Well, I – Only when you're _ready. _Jeez, I'm not – just gonna pounce on you!"

Quirrell laughed at how flustered he was, beginning to blush himself. "I know, I – I know that. But you're who I've w-waited on."

"Huh?"

"I'm p-pretty sure you're the – the _one_." Quirrell elaborated, always a sucker for romantic terminology.

"Well, I mean, I…" Voldemort faltered. "I do love you. I've never felt this way about _anyone_ before."

Quirrell took Voldemort's hand, placing it on his waist. "Me neither." He told him quietly, shooting him a grin. "So. You'll s-sleep here tonight? No pouncing. J-just hugs."

Voldemort didn't have to think very hard. "Uh-huh. Sure. I'll…I'll do that. I'll sneak up. It'll be like we're teens all over again."

"Well, now th-that that's settled," Quirrell said happily, adjusting the tubes in his nose. "You can r-read to me. My h-head kinda hurts too m-much."

"No problem." Voldemort had to smile. "Lemme guess. Jane Eyre?"

"Nah. Let's go for s-something a little d-different." Quirrell suggested, reaching to take Voldemort's hand. "H-have you ever read Wuthering H-Heights?"

"Take a wild guess."

"Perfect! Heathcliff k-kinda reminds me of Jamie. C-can we read that one?"

"What happens to Heathcliff?"

"Oh. He d-dies. Most of them do."

"Sounds just fine to me." Voldemort said, and he immediately picked up the aforementioned book.

XxX

Voldemort waited until the house was completely silent before sitting up. He strongly suspected Quirrell's mother had dumped him on this couch because of how uncomfortable it was, but knew it wouldn't be wise to push his luck and ask her.

Moving slowly so as not to make any noise, he made his way up the stairs, gently pushing open Quirrell's door. The young man was curled up at the edge of the bed, seemingly asleep, but his eyes flickered open as Voldemort approached him.

"Yay," He slurred sleepily, "That'ss my b-boyfriend."

Voldemort stifled a laugh. "Did I just wake you up?"

"I was d-dreaming…" Quirrell murmured into his pillow, "a n-nice dream this time. And here you – you are."

"Well, you're not dreaming just now. I'm really right here. Budge up." Voldemort replied fondly, unable to help but admire him for a moment. "Fuck. I'm so lucky."

"I'm l-luckier," Quirrell insisted, shifting slightly to give Voldemort some room.

Voldemort carefully lay down beside him, and Quirrell immediately rested his head against his strong chest. "Ssh. We don't want your mom storming in here." He was unable to help but laugh a little at that. "Man, this is so ridiculous. The whole situation is ridiculous."

"I – I know," Quirrell agreed, a little sadly. "But – but, hey, I have my h-house, remember? We'll go there. Soon. I d-don't know."

"No rush," Voldemort assured him, holding him close.

It was a little cramped, and Voldemort wasn't exactly in the most comfortable position, but he decided lying in the same bed as Quirrell, holding him, was one of the best things in the world.


	15. Chapter 15

**Here it is, the final chapter of this story. I've been stalling on this one for some time because I didn't want it to end! Thank you so much to everyone who read and reviewed. It means a lot and I'm glad you all liked it! See you next time!**

Quirrell jolted awake, disoriented at having been woken up so abruptly, before realising it was his mother hammering on his door. With a groan of discomfort, he attempted to roll over, only to bump into somebody else. He immediately stiffened in alarm, already prepared to start yelling. What the –

Oh. Right.

A slow smile spread across his face, and he moved in closer, snuggling against Voldemort, who somehow hadn't woken up from all the racket.

"Quirinus, open this door!" His mother sounded slightly hysterical, and the knocking intensified. "Open it!"

"But I'm…So c-comfy." He yawned, burying his face in Voldemort's neck.

"Is You-Know-Who with you? Is he?" Her voice rose. "He's not downstairs. We've let a mass murderer loose! We should've turned him in!"

Voldemort eyes slowly fluttered open, and he frowned heavily. "Wassgoinon?" He slurred, somewhat dazed. "Make 'em stop…screaming."

"He's w-with me." Quirrell informed his mother, which resulted in a very long silence. Then:

"That's even worse! Open – this – _door_!"

Voldemort huffed, placing his hand on the back of Quirrell's head. "Jeez, is she usually so cranky?"

"I heard that!"

Voldemort grumpily threw the duvet away from himself, struggling out of the bed to make his way to the door. He unlocked it and swiftly pulled it open, coming face to face with Quirrell's mother. "Hey, no offence, but I'm trying to get some shut-eye here."

She looked him over in obvious distaste, before glancing in to see Quirrell cocooned in the duvet. "Are you alright, Quirinus?"

"I'm great." He said sleepily. "I mean, you – you woke us up, but…"

"He didn't do anything, did he?" She demanded, looking as if she was debating moving past Voldemort to check on him properly, or keeping her distance from the supposed reformed Dark Lord.

"No, I didn't." Voldemort answered, rolling his eyes. "There, we shared a bed without me doing anything to him. Except some hugs. Are you happy? Do I have your trust now?"

"Trust?" She echoed, huffing in disgust. "How exactly am I ever meant to trust you?"

"That's a fair question." Voldemort leaned against the doorframe, trying to figure out a way himself. "Maybe you can listen to your son? He'll tell you the truth."

"You're an expert at Legilimency." Quirrell's mother pointed out icily. "I trust my son with everything, but I can't take any chances here. All I want is to protect my family."

"I want that – that too." Quirrell slowly pushed himself up, running a hand through his tousled hair. "I'd n-never put you in any d-danger, and he's not c-controlling me. He never _was_, ok?"

Voldemort glanced back over at him, almost melting at how adorable Quirrell looked having just woken up, before nodding. "Well, are you up for talking things through? All of us? No shouts, no accusing, just talking."

Quirrell's mother hesitated for a second. "My priority is Quirinus' health and wellbeing. If this upsets him –"

"All this aggro is upsetting me al-already." Quirrell pointed out. "So we're g-gonna talk, and you and Dad are gonna listen to – to us."

"You sure you're up to it?" Voldemort had to ask. "Not that I doubt you or anything, I just – She's right, I don't want to upset you when you've only just got out of hospital _again_."

"I can handle it." Quirrell said firmly. "Just…Let me – me get up. Pass me my dressing robe."

Voldemort moved to do just that, sighing as he found it crumpled up on the floor. "Hang this up somewhere next time, or fold it. Your room was so clean and you better not mess it all up again." He realised too late how demanding he must sound to Quirrell's mother, and hastily passed it over to Quirrell.

Quirrell's mother eyed Voldemort again, pursing her lips. "Still ordering him around?"

"No, he's j-just a pain about cleaning." Quirrell rolled his eyes. "He's always been like – like that, trust me, and he's k-kinda right, 'cause I'm _extremely_ untidy. Jamie said the s-same."

His mother clenched her jaw in disgust. "Don't even mention him. Next to You-Know-Who over here, I can't even stand to hear about him."

"Ok." Quirrell shrugged on the dressing robe with a small shrug. "Suits me."

His mother's posture slackened slightly, and when she spoke her voice was tinged with despair. "It's all my fault."

"What?" Quirrell blinked at her. "What's your f-fault?"

"Jamie. I'm the one that arranged that stupid meet-up between you two in the first place. I brought him into your life, when you didn't even want him there, and look at what he's done." Her face crumpled, and she immediately brought a hand to her face. "I am so, so sorry."

"Oh." Was all Quirrell managed. "Well, don't – don't be. He was c-company, and he wasn't so bad at the st-start, I guess. You feel bad about that?"

"Jamie's a total thing of history, trust me." Voldemort put his arm around Quirrell's shoulders comfortingly.

"I'm not sure if that's even meant to make me feel better, seeing as _you've_ taken his place."

"V-Voldemort's in a place of his own." Quirrell replied. "He's my…I love him. I n-never loved Jamie, even though I t-tried. But I always loved V-Voldemort. I need him, and – and he needs me."

As Quirrell spoke, Voldemort felt his heart thump almost painfully, and raised a hand to his chest, just as Quirrell did the same thing. They glanced at each other in surprise, before Quirrell grinned bashfully. "What he said." Voldemort eventually murmured, his mind spinning. "Hey, uh, Mrs…Quirrell."

"Winona." She all but snarled.

"Right, yeah. We're on a first name basis now? I mean, that's sweet, I'm down with that, but – Uh, could I just have two minutes alone with your son? You can even time me."

"You've had all _night_ with him, even though I explicitly said that –"

"I know, you're absolutely right, but this is actually pretty important." Voldemort interrupted, his hold on Quirrell tightening slightly. Quirrell looked slightly perplexed, but shrugged anyway.

"We'll meet you d-downstairs, ok?" He told his mother. "I want to talk over everything. Just g-give me a moment up here."

She sighed heavily, running a hand down her face. "Ok. Ok, new start, new chapter. I'll have to trust You-Know-Who for now."

"You can call me Voldemort, y'know."

"I know." She replied tersely as she left the room, clearly struggling not to slam the door behind her as she did so.

There was a bit of a silence, before Quirrell glanced at Voldemort quizzically. "What's this a-about?"

"I…" Voldemort began somewhat hesitantly. "You know how we never figured out how I stayed alive even after Potter supposedly killed me?"

"Uh-huh."

"Well," Voldemort patted Quirrell's chest. "I, uh, think I just figured it out."

XxX

"You c-can't be serious." Quirrell eventually managed, looking up at Voldemort. Halfway through his explanation, he'd had to sit down on the bed and readjust his cannula. "You're suggesting a p-piece of your soul is in - in me? In my _heart_?"

"I think so." Voldemort replied somewhat nervously. "I'm meant to be dead, but I'm not. And I think it's all because of you. I don't - I don't view you as a _horcrux_ exactly, but -"

"But I t-technically am."

"I love you, Quirrell, ok? I think I did even before Azkaban, so when I offed the Diggory kid maybe I accidentally made another...Well, it resulted in a piece of my soul attaching itself to _you_. Are…" He faltered. "Are you alright? I know it sounds totally crazy, and I understand if you're mad -"

"Are you k-kidding?" Quirrell was positively beaming as he got to his feet to grab Voldemort's hands. "Do you g-get what this means?"

"Uh -"

"We're _literally_ soulmates! Y'see how that w-works?"

Voldemort took a few moments, and then he began to laugh, moving his hands to cup Quirrell's face. "That's the first thing you can say to you having a piece of me in you? Fuck. You're so adorable, come here." He kissed him softly, giving Quirrell space to back out of it if he was uncomfortable, but the other man responded to it eagerly.

"It's so c-cool, dude!" Quirrell said breathlessly, his face slightly flushed. "I m-mean, I can't believe _I'm_ the - the reason you're still here!"

"Yeah, and don't you forget it. It's all you, Squirrel."

The smile dimmed from Quirrell's face a tiny bit, and he looked away for a few moments. Voldemort noticed and instantly rubbed his arms soothingly. "What's wrong?"

"I'm j-just, you know, really glad you showed up a-again, 'cause I thought - I thought you were dead before and I w-wanted to die too, so that would've been…"

"Oh, hey, don't think like that, it's ok." Voldemort said quickly, taking his hand. "I _had_ to come back to you, I missed you like mad. Besides, we're here together now, and I'm never going anywhere again."

Quirrell looked back at him, smiling again. "I really love you."

Voldemort was unable to stop his wide grin at that, and he lightly kissed Quirrell's nose. "I really love you too."

XXX

"I can't believe your parents actually let me take you out." Voldemort said for around the tenth time as he led Quirrell along. "Maybe they're really warming up to me!"

"They did t-take the talk pretty well the other d-day." Quirrell agreed, grinning at Voldemort's enthusiasm. His parents did actually seem a little better about the idea of him and Voldemort being together, even though they probably had a way to go. Still, now that Quirrell's cannula was gone and he was a lot stronger, he was happy to be out the house. "So. Where are we g-going?"

"It's a surprise!" Voldemort told him happily as they walked on. "All I'm gonna say is, prepare to be _amazed_."

Ten minutes later the sounds of a crowd were audible, and Quirrell shrank back a little bit. "I'm really c-confused. What is this?" He managed as they neared an arena where the source of the noise was coming from.

"You still haven't figured it out?" Voldemort laughed. "Here, take a look."

Quirrell edged closer towards the outdoor arena, and his mouth fell open. "We're...are we g-going rollerblading?"

"Hell yes!" He grinned. "I promised you a long time ago, and we're finally doing it. Just don't laugh at me when I fall over, ok?"

Quirrell just stared in complete amazement. "You actually...organized a rollerblading d-date."

"Yeah." Now Voldemort sounded a little nervous. "That's ok, right? Is it too late? Or - or sappy? I just figured, I owed it to you and -"

"Voldemort, it's incredible." Quirrell cut across his rambling with a wide smile, and then he started to laugh, flinging his arms around his neck. "Thank you, thank you!"

"Oh!" Voldemort staggered back a bit, before holding Quirrell close, audibly sighing in relief. "No worries. You deserve it."

"I c-can't believe this!" Quirrell pulled back, already beginning to hurry over to the entrance, Voldemort following. "This is so cool!"

"Glad you like it, man." Voldemort grinned and then told the man their shoe sizes. Soon the skates were handed over and before Voldemort could even blink, Quirrell had got his on and was grabbing Voldemort's arm.

"C'mon! We only h-have around an hour!"

"Plenty of time or you to fall over, then." Voldemort smirked. The smile was soon wiped from his face when he eventually stood and his feet slid uncontrollably. "Hey, whoa!"

"You've n-never skated before, h-have you?" Quirrell questioned, already grinning.

"I have." He retorted, before faltering. "I mean, it was a really long time ago. I was probably a teenager."

"Here." Quirrell held out his hand. "I'll g-guide you onto the arena, o-ok?"

"What a gentleman." He grinned back before taking Quirrell's hand and squeezing it. He wobbled slightly as he awkwardly began to skate once they were in the actual arena, and hugged a laugh. "It looks way easier on TV…"

"It's not too b-bad. You just g-gotta take your time, or - or hold onto the railing." Quirrell tentatively moved his legs, building up something of a rhythm. "And d-don't look at your f-feet all the time!"

"Whoa, wait up!" Voldemort attempted to skate by his side, tripping over his feet in the process. In an attempt to save himself from falling he grabbed aimlessly at Quirrell's jacket so that they both went sprawling.

"Ow!" Quirrell immediately exclaimed, before he burst out laughing, rolling over onto his back. "_Ow_, that hurts."

"Oh shit, shit, I'm so sorry!" Voldemort scrambled to his knees, hastily checking Quirrell over. "Are you alright? First date and I'm already injuring you. So much for -"

"Oh, shut up, I'm f-fine." He giggled, struggling to a sitting position. "I'm great! Are _you_ al-alright?"

"I'm probably gonna have some very bruised knees, but other than that, I'm good." Voldemort cupped Quirrell's face somewhat anxiously. "You're sure you're ok? Nothing hurts?"

"You really d-don't have to freak out, V-Voldemort. We're meant to fall o-over, it's _rollerblading_."

"Yeah, but I don't - " He began, before pausing at the look on Quirrell's face. "I'm overreacting, huh?"

"C-completely." Quirrell confirmed. "Now let's get - get up so we can fall again."

Eventually they opted to skate holding hands so that they'd have a chance of saving the other from hitting the floor. It meant their movements were slower but that also gave them the opportunity to talk or, in Voldemort's case, admire his new boyfriend. _Boyfriend_. That was something he'd never thought he'd be able to say.

"Y'know something, Quirrell…" He began lightly, giving his hand a squeeze. "I think I'm probably the luckiest guy on this planet right now."

"That's really, really sappy, but p-please, carry on." Quirrell said, obviously delighted. "_Why_ are - are you the luckiest guy, exactly?"

"Because I'm still here after everything I've done, and you are too. I mean, how do I deserve this?" Voldemort joked, before faltering. "Really, though. How do I deserve to have you after what I did?"

"Well…" Quirrell stopped skating, trying to be somewhat graceful, but crashing slightly against the railing despite his efforts. "L-look at it this way; you saved my - my life."

"I practically destroyed it first." Voldemort interrupted before he could even absorb what Quirrell had said. Once he did, he frowned. "I didn't, Q. The doctors did. I wish I'd done more, but I did nothing -"

"Uh-uh!" Quirrell held up a hand to silence him, giving him a very unimpressed look. "You d-don't get it. Voldemort, w-without you, I wanted to die. I _was _dead. You saved me by - by coming back to me. You h-have to trust me on that."

Voldemort blinked at him in bewilderment, his expression softening completely. "Quirrell…" He started, and then swallowed. "I...Don't even...I mean, I just...I _had _to come back to you. You saved me too. You make me better. I can't even imagine the way I was before...before Azkaban. I was a _monster_."

"Well, th-that's the Dark Lord for you."

"And the Dark Lord is gone." Voldemort promised, lifting Quirrell's hand and kissing it. "But seriously, I'm so, so sorry. For everything I did. For the way I treated you before I got to know you properly, and how I still fucked up even when I was honoured enough to call myself your friend. Quirrell, I really don't deserve you."

"I d-disagree." Quirrell said quietly. "I think you deserve to - to be loved. And I do. I love y-you."

Voldemort bit his lip to stop his wide smile, and gently kissed Quirrell's lips. "Race you. Here to the end of the arena."

"Wha - Oh, hey, c-come on!" Quirrell yelled after him as Voldemort immediately began to skate off, going way too fast for someone so inexperienced. "That's un-unfair!"

"Not my fault you're too slow!" He fired over his shoulder, and Quirrell laughed before he started to follow after him.

XxX

By the time they eventually got home, they were definitely a little bruised up, but still in extremely high spirits. Quirrell led him into the house, still giggling about how much Voldemort had fallen over, and ultimately leaned against the doorframe until he got his breath back.

"Like - I d-didn't think it was _p-possible _to hurt in so many places." He eventually managed, rubbing his hipbone as he walked further into the house.

"Yeah, sorry about that." Voldemort said as he followed him into the kitchen, getting them some drinks. "I guess the racing was a little bit risky. But on the bright side, your parents are still out. It's like we're actually living together as a couple, if only for a few more hours."

"Sounds pretty nice." Quirrell smiled, sipping at his water. "Thanks for t-tonight, by the way. It was p-perfect."

"And long overdue." Voldemort smiled back, glancing away for a moment. "Still, I finally acted on my promise. I'll make sure to keep that up."

"There's one th-thing you forgot, though." Quirrell began, putting his glass down for a moment. "We d-didn't see a movie."

"Oh." Voldemort's eyes widened slightly. "Shit, yeah! Well, that's easy enough. We can take a look through some of the DVDs, if there are any you're in the mood for."

Quirrell bit his lip, before carefully shaking his head. "You know, I, uh...I c-could be in the mood for something."

Voldemort raised an eyebrow. "What?"

Quirrell took a step closer, and kissed him. It was a simple enough act, but something in the way it was initiated made Voldemort's whole body go tingly. He drew back after a few blissful moments, and shot Quirrell a confused little smile. The other man responded by simply taking his hand and leading him upstairs towards the bedroom.

Over the years, Voldemort had never shied away from that fact that he'd had a lot of sex. Screwing around was one of his favourite pastimes as a Dark Lord, and as a horny teenager. Tons of women _always _threw themselves at him to get to 'make love' with _the _Lord Voldemort.

Bellatrix always used to call their fooling around making love, and Voldemort had never really understood what she meant. Now he realised she'd been talking shit. Making love was unbelievable. It was _wonderful_. And it was something he'd never had the privilege to do before.

As Quirrell gasped and moaned out his name a dozen times, clinging onto him as if he'd be entirely lost if he let go, Voldemort could've sworn he saw stars. They were entangled together, their skin flushed as they pressed against one another, and Voldemort had never felt more complete in his entire life.

Quirrell had always assumed his first time would be exactly like something out of his romance novels, with a bottle of champagne ready and rose petals. Finally being able to make love with Voldemort was ten times better. Even once they finished, Quirrell clung onto him tightly, kissing him over and over as the waves of pleasure rolled through him. He was loved. He was safe.

Voldemort had come home.


End file.
